Parachute
by nek0-sama
Summary: In the wake of Gabriella Montez's departure from East High, Troy Bolton finds himself falling helplessly into a state of confusion and despair. With his uncertain future looming just around the corner, Troy clings desperately to Gabriella, in spite of every sign that their relationship is failing. However, he just might find a parachute in an unlikely source: Ryan Evans.
1. Part 1

Parachute

1.

_ I don't need a parachute_

_ Baby if I've got you _

_ Baby, if I've got you,_

_ I don't need a parachute_

_ You're gonna catch me_

_ You're gonna catch me if I fall_

_ Down, down, down _

- "Parachute", by Ingrid Michaelson 

* * *

"All right, everyone! From the top!"

A shockwave jolts Troy Bolton. He's messed up the choreography. _Again_. Around him, he hears discontented mutters as everyone takes up their places from the start of the song. Glares score the side of the brunette boy's face and bore into the back of his head. The majority of the senior class didn't even want to get involved with the school musical, in the first place. Having to repeat the same number over and over because "The Basketball Guy", seems to have no idea what he's doing, these days, has to be endlessly frustrating for them.

"I'm sorry, guys," Troy says. It's all that he _can _say.

Martha Cox, the curly-haired brunette braniac-turned-former-head-cheerleader with a fondness for busting a move to hip-hop, rolls her eyes. She probably had the choreography for the entire show down _weeks_ ago.

Sharpay Evans, the theater queen of East High, pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. It's her last show at the school and Troy is ruining it.

"I'm sorry," Troy says again. His voice sounds small and weak to his own ears, and he lowers his eyes to his feet, his heart heavy with shame.

"It's all right", a light voice assures him. A gentle hand touches his shoulder.

Troy raises his head to meet Ryan Evans's understanding blue eyes.

"Come on." Ryan nods toward a more private area of the auditorium, the back row, which is far away from inquisitive eyes and ears.

Troy allows Ryan to lead him there. As they make their way down the aisle, his gait feels slow and plodding, his feet like blocks of lead. He wonders how the blond boy can muster up the will to be so understanding. As a matter of fact, Ryan is exceptionally _lenient_, given that he is the show's choreographer, and it's _his_ choreography that Troy is repeatedly screwing up with opening night only a few weeks away.

"East High Golden Boy", indeed.

He and Ryan sit down beside each other. Troy drags his hands down his face, and then runs his hand through his hair. A sizable part of him wants to set down roots right here in this seat, and simply give into the substantial melancholy that permeates what feels like every organ in his body. But, another, even larger part of him refuses to allow him to do that.

"Kelsi, start up the music from act two," Ms. Darbus instructs. As the tiny brunette girl obeys and quickly flips through her sheet music to the specified song, the bespectacled drama teacher sweeps across the stage, calling out, "Mr. Cross! What have I told you about the dangers of chewing gum in the theatre?"

"Troy."

Troy turns back to Ryan. His mind is a disorganized mess, anymore, but the petite blond with curvy hips, whom Troy can only describe as "hot", or "pretty", is easy for him to concentrate on.

"You've_ got _the choreography." Ryan's eyes glow softly, and he gives Troy a bright, encouraging smile. "You know what you're doing, alright?"

A slight smile tugs at the corners of Troy's mouth. If Ryan says so, it has to be true. The weight on his chest lessens a little. "Yeah," he replies.

"I know that everyone is tensed up and stressed out," Ryan continues, "and my sister isn't exactly the most cooperative partner, but don't let that get to you, okay?

Troy nods, biting the inside of his mouth. He can't help that every time he dances or sings with Sharpay, he longs for fruit-scented waves of dark hair to replace the female Evans twin's signature vanilla-scented golden blonde, and olive skin, instead of lightly tanned arms and hands yanking him around and a glittery pink mouth in a lightly tanned face spouting uncomfortably flirtatious phrases, one moment, and then snapping at him, the next. He misses the feeling of Gabriella's slight body in his arms. Her emotions are also volatile, at times, yes, and Troy often feels like he is struggling against a powerful, impossible current with how hard he has to work to please her and keep their relationship intact, but at least standing near her doesn't cause fear to clench his chest in a vise-like grip, like it does around Sharpay.

But, Gabriella is at Stanford, pursuing an opportunity that Troy never could have denied her. And, Sharpay is her understudy for the musical. Sharpay _isn't_ Gabriella, but she's talented enough to have already learned the choreography and the music for Gabriella's part.

_Troy_ is the problem. Everyone knows it.

Onstage, Troy's best friend, Chad Danforth, and the rest of the retiring seniors from the basketball team execute their basketball-themed routine flawlessly.

Without their captain.

Troy swallows, his stomach twisting. "I don't know if I can do it, Ryan. I'm messing everything up. Everyone's pissed off…" He shakes his head. "Maybe you should just let Jimmie take my role over full-time, and make me the understudy, instead."

"Hey." Ryan's tone is firm and unwavering, but still far too gentle.

Troy wishes he could understand _why_. He looks into the performer's sky-colored eyes.

"_You are_ Troy Bolton. There isn't a single person in the world that I would trust to play that part faithfully, but _you_." Ryan leans in a bit, his eyes reflecting the sincerity that fills his voice. "I'm sure that Ms. D and Kelsi would agree with me on that."

Troy feels his heart miss a beat. Up close, he can see the faint sheen in Ryan's lipstick, the adorable overbite that makes Ryan's smile so infectious, and that the blond boy's fair complexion is unblemished. Like porcelain. He feels that urge, the urge that has been there since he and Ryan became friends over summer vacation, to press his mouth against Ryan's.

"We're going to keep working at this, Troy, but just remember that you're _you_. And, you can do this." The conviction in Ryan's words is as encouraging and infectious as his smile.

It strengthens Troy's resolve. "Yeah," he agrees. He isn't going to let Ryan, or Kelsi, down. No matter how much not having Gabriella around makes him feel empty inside.

"You're our star." Ryan nudges Troy softly, affectionately. "The show can't go on without you." He says it as though it's something that he wishes were true, when they both know otherwise. The show _will_ go on with or without Troy Bolton, come hell or high water, because that's how it works in the realm of show business.

But, Ryan doesn't seem to want it to.

"It _won't_," Troy promises.

A smile breaks out on Ryan's face. His eyes shine, and Troy is unable to stop himself from smiling back. "So… are you ready to get back onstage?"

"Yes, I am." Troy feels confidence, and maybe something else, warming his insides.

Ryan gets out of his seat and offers Troy a hand. Troy takes it without hesitation.

"Whatever moves you're struggling with, we'll work on after school," Ryan offers. He gives Troy's hand a light squeeze once the brunette former athlete is standing upright.

"Thank you, Ry," Troy says softly. He sidles in close to the blond, blush creeping into his cheeks as he tightens his own grip on Ryan's slender hand.

"For what?" Ryan blinks, faint surprise in his eyes.

_For being so understanding. For being wonderful. For not getting mad at me. _All of these options enter Troy's head. He winds up going with, "For being you."

It appears to be the right choice. Ryan ducks his head shyly and bites back a grin. Their hands remain enveloped in each other for a few seconds longer as they make their way toward the stage.

8-8-8-8-8

Troy manages to perform the choreography in his and "Gabriella's" big duet almost flawlessly. He just reminds himself to be, well, _himself_. He catches Ryan's eye and the blond grins back at him. The trill of joy that courses through Troy is enough to get him through Sharpay's more forceful and over-the-top style of dancing.

Before he knows it, the bell has rung, signaling the end of free period.

While Troy moves out into the house of the auditorium to collect his belongings, Ryan catches up with him. "Great job," the smaller boy says warmly.

Troy smiles.

"I saw an unmistakable improvement with the choreography in this-"

"Troy, Ryan, Kelsi," Ms. Darbus interjects, cutting Ryan off.

Exchanging a confused glance, Troy and Ryan make their way over to the drama instructor, joining Kelsi. The light in the composer's blue-green eyes is every bit as puzzled as both boys are.

Ms. Darbus lets out a hefty sigh. She removes her glasses, and her eyes meet Troy's directly. "I realize that the loss of Ms. Montez has proved an obstacle for all of us, but, you, Mr. Bolton…"

Troy swallows and straightens his spine.

"You have a passion for being onstage," Ms. Darbus continues solemnly. "Yet, until Mr. Evans took you aside to give you a pep talk," her gaze shifts to Ryan, who looks briefly to Troy before lowering his eyes to the floor, "I saw no traces of that passion, today."

Guilt eating at his stomach, Troy slips his hands into his pockets. "I know, Ms. D. I'm sorry. I'm trying-"

She dismisses the apology with a shake of her head. "There is no need to apologize," she says, her voice holding a level of sympathy and understanding that Troy never would have expected from her. "Just keep working at it."

Troy nods. "I will," he responds firmly.

Ms. Darbus's stare encompasses all three of her students. She waits several moments, possibly pausing for dramatic effect, before declaring, "For the next six days, the auditorium will be available to the three of you in the evenings following after school rehearsals. Ryan, you will assist Troy with any moves that he struggles with. Kelsi, you will be on-hand if they need you."

"Yes, ma'am," Troy, Ryan, and Kelsi reply in unison.

"Ryan, I have notes for you to look over in regards to any alterations that need to be made to accommodate the casting change."

"Okay," Ryan says softly. He reaches out for the sheet of paper that the elderly woman hands him.

Sliding her spectacles up the bridge of her nose, Ms. Darbus gathers up her playbook and clipboard and addresses Troy. "Tap into that reserve of passion and courage. You have a natural gift for performing. Don't let it go to waste."

A nerve has been struck within Troy. He can only manage a faint nod as Ms. Darbus departs.

"You okay there, Hoopsman?" Kelsi inquires.

Troy's gaze flicks from her to Ryan, who meets his stare with a concerned and questioning look. "I'm fine," he says, slapping on what he hopes is a convincing smile. "Come on." He wraps an arm around both of them, drawing the tiny composer and petite and curvy choreographer into him. "Let's go get lunch."

8-8-8-8-8

He just finishes jotting down answers to his homework assignment on the Cold War when his cellphone goes off. Troy recognizes the number on the caller id, and his heart leaps excitedly. "How was school?" He asks as he flips the phone open.

"Long. Pretty boring," Gabriella's soft, girlish voice replies with a giggle. "What I expected college to be."

"So um, hey," Troy starts when silence begins to settle in. He rubs at his neck, his heart rate picking up. He realizes that he's changing the subject, but he missed being able to talk to her about his day, about his future, about _everything_. "Rehearsals for the musical, today…"

"I really wish I could be there." Gabriella sighs wistfully. "There's a girl in my Pre-Law class who reminds me _so much_ of Taylor. And, the food at Stanford isn't as good as the food served in the cafeteria at East High."

"Yeah, that so?" Troy asks quietly. He laughs, hoping that she can't tell from over the phone that his heart has just sunk down into the pit of his stomach for a reason that he can't quite fathom.

"This one boy who sits next to me in the lecture hall- he's _so_ sweet." A playful giddiness creeps into Gabriella's voice. "He tells me little jokes to keep me from dozing off when the professor just goes on, and on, and on."

"That's really great, Gabriella." Troy is happy for her. He is. Gabriella is so intelligent, and bound to do amazing things. He's being selfish, getting upset because she has more important things going on in her life than him. He should be more supportive.

Besides, she might be one thousand fifty-three miles away physically, but her voice is right there, reverberating in his eardrums. At the moment, it's the closest that Troy can get to being with her, and he allows that to bring him some degree of comfort. Taking a breath, he pushes his feelings aside. "So, uh, what's your favorite class, so far?" He asks. This time, he's fully prepared to be the attentive, wholly supportive boyfriend that Gabriella needs.

8-8-8-8-8

_Lips brush softly against his neck. "Wildcat", Gabriella's voice whispers softly, sensually. It's her nickname for him. It reminds him of the pedestal that he's been unwillingly placed on by his peers, but he doesn't question it. He never has. She only uses the nickname when she's being affectionate with him, after all. _

_ Gabriella turns around, her long, dark waves of hair coming to rest on her bare, olive-tinted shoulder blades. Troy wraps his arms around her, holding her close, his chest pressed to her back._

_ Giggling, she escapes his embrace. She spins to face him and arches up on her toes, the ends of her white sundress sliding up, revealing her thighs. Before Troy knows it, her fingers have curled around tendrils of his hair, and she pulls him in. Her lips are on his. The kiss lasts for a few, brief moments. _

_ Troy's heart races. _

_ When Gabriella pulls away, he can taste the nearly forgotten flavor of her lipgloss on his lips. Troy moves forward, hoping to hold her again, but the landscape changes. _

_ He finds his body pressed against pale, creamy skin. A particularly round, shapely butt grinds into his groin. Bliss and arousal jolt through Troy's body, stimulating every nerve. His heart hammers in his ears. "F-Fuck…!" He gasps._

_ That breathtakingly _talented_ set of hips continues to grind against him, even as the figure in his arms whirls around, bringing him face to face with sky-colored eyes, pink lips, and a fair face that he isn't at all surprised to recognize as Ryan's. _

_ "Teach me how to dance, Ryan," Troy grunts, his chest heaving as heat pools in his stomach._

_ Ryan bites his lip, and that urge to crush his mouth against Ryan's pretty pink one is almost overpowering. "You already know how. You're a natural, Troy," Ryan whispers, his words tantalizing. He leans in and his lips graze Troy's earlobe. _

_ Need pierces Troy's chest and shoots directly into the area below his waistband. He groans, clinging to Ryan. Just like that, his hips jut forward, falling into perfect synch with the motion of Ryan's pelvis. _

_ A high, joyous cry is ripped from Ryan's musical throat. _

_ Troy thrusts again, spinning himself and Ryan into a wall of some kind. Once there, they pause for a moment, and stare into each other's eyes. _

_ The desire and affection shining in Ryan's eyes is so intense, a lump forms in Troy's throat. He can't hold back, anymore. He moves in and places his mouth on the blond's, his heart swelling in his chest. Cool, slender hands rest on both sides of his face, and his heart feels like it's overflowing with emotion._

_ Suddenly, the shrill, ear-piercing chirp of his father's whistle crashes into Troy's eardrums. A basketball comes flying at him and Ryan from out of nowhere. _

_ Troy pushes Ryan to the side, getting him out of the line of fire. Right as he prepares to duck, himself, however, his legs lock into place. The orange and black striped ball hurtles toward him. Troy can only close his eyes and brace for impact…_

He forces his eyes open. He lies there, slowly reorienting himself with the state of consciousness and the placement of his limbs.

There aren't any basketballs headed for his face, propelled with enough force to leave a nasty welt.

There also isn't a warm body in the bed beside him. He feels a pang in his heart as the latter observation descends on his mind.

In the dark, he can just make out the picture of Gabriella in her powdered blue sweater sitting framed on his nightstand. _Gabriella_, his _girlfriend_.

Who is still one thousand miles away.

Slowly, Troy comes to the realization that his hand is surrounded by warmth and pressed against heated skin. The fabric of his boxers is slightly damp.

"Shit…" He whispers, extracting his appendage. He pushes himself into an upright position. His digital clock flashes '3:53 am', and he reminds himself that he'll have to be quick and quiet when he changes clothes.

8-8-8-8-8

"Troy! _My man_!"

Troy jumps as a hand slaps the area of his upper back right between his shoulder blades. His reaction causes his elbow to slam into his locker, which he was leaning against. Wincing at the sting enveloping his funny bone, he rubs at his bleary eyes and discerns that, while snug and warm in his jacket, he must have started to doze off. "Hey, Jimmie," he murmurs.

"So, your old man says I'm doing a great job. He might even consider putting me in the running for _team captain_, next year." Jimmie Zara, a scrawny, overzealous sophomore member of the basketball team, and Troy's understudy in the musical due to Jimmie's almost troublingly passionate case of hero worship for the older brunette athlete, bobs his head, wearing a proud smirk, as he speaks.

What he's saying only faintly registers with Troy. Not wanting to be rude, though, Troy comments, "That's wonderful."

"Yeah, I know." Jimmie breaks into a grin. "Anyway, what's up with you?"

"Hm?" Troy asks, shaking off the remaining bits of his disorientation.

"You were like, fallin' asleep, bro."

His stomach twisting with embarrassment that "Rocketman", of all people, caught him nodding off, Troy replies, "Nothing's up." Summoning up some amount of poise, he leans into Jimmie and says conspiratorially, "You know, my dad is _really _impressed by dedication." He pauses to glance at his bare wrist. He's never worn a watch, but, hopefully, that won't distract the younger boy from his words. "There's still time before homeroom. Why don't you go shoot some free-throws in the gym?"

His brown eyes lighting up excitedly, Jimmie heeds the advice. "Great idea, Troy! That's why your teammates voted you captain!" He lands another resounding smack in the exact same spot as earlier.

Just holding back a grunt of pain, Troy grits his teeth and plasters on a forced smile of acknowledgement.

Jimmie begins dashing off toward the gymnasium. Along the way, he passes a familiar slender blond with curvy hips and a hat perched on his head.

Troy's heart skips a beat at the sight of the immediately recognizable Ryan Evans.

The hyperactive sophomore, however, dashes right past Ryan without a second glance.

Looking faintly bemused at Jimmie's behavior, Ryan approaches Troy. His neatly groomed brows knit, and his eyes cloud with sympathy as he takes the older brunette in. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Troy nods. He doesn't have to force a smile for Ryan. "I just got a warm reception from Jimmie and his… _enthusiasm_," he jokes lightly.

Ryan chuckles. Together, he and Troy watch Jimmie until his baggy hooded sweat-jacket has disappeared around the corner. "He certainly is bursting with _enthusiasm_. But, he doesn't have the maturity to temper it, yet."

"Hm?" Troy blinks, slightly puzzled.

"Like you." Ryan nudges Troy playfully, and, Troy notices, very gently, as if he's making sure that he doesn't hurt him.

The considerate gesture and the impact of Ryan's words soften Troy's heart. He lets out a quiet laugh and murmurs, "Thanks". A smile tugs at Ryan's lips and lights up his eyes. It makes Troy feel safe confiding in the blond boy, "I didn't really sleep well, last night."

"Due to nightmares, or insomnia, or….?" Ryan asks, his smile vanishing instantly as concern knits his brows.

"A combination, I think."

"I'm sorry." Shifting his weight, Ryan bites the inside of his mouth. "I wish there was somewhere in the school you could go to take a nap before class."

"It's all right," Troy assures him. "I've gotta keep myself up, anyway."

"Well, in that case… here." Troy blinks curiously as Ryan hands him a nice, cold bottled water. "Something to recharge your electrolytes," Ryan explains, shuffling his feet and ducking his head.

Troy grins. "Thanks, Ry." He opens the lid and takes a long sip, letting the cool water rush down his throat, and, hopefully, wash away all traces of exhaustion.

8-8-8-8-8

Gabriella called him three times while he was in Pre-Calc. Troy only realizes this when he checks his phone after class and sees three missed calls and a voice mail on the screen.

Heart hammering and his hands shaking, Troy ducks into the men's restroom and prepares himself to listen to the voice mail. He knows that Gabriella is going to be upset with him. Test or no test, he should have excused himself to take her call. He _should_ have answered. Troy inhales and fights off a sudden surge of nausea as he hears his girlfriend's soft, girlish voice taking on that patronizing sneer that he's become much more acquainted with than he ever wanted to.

"You're not going to pick up the phone, Troy? Oh, I see. Apparently, whatever you have going on is obviously more important than _me_. I get it. That's cool. Whatever. Maybe, my new friend, _Shawn_, has time to listen to me."

Troy's heart drops into the pit of his stomach. "Damn it…!" He whispers. It's a struggle to gulp down the lump in his throat, and keep the hot tears of failure from stinging his eyes. No matter what he does, he can't seem to make Gabriella happy. He's a terrible boyfriend, a horrible person. He…! Frantically, Troy forces his trembling hands to dial her number into the keypad. "Pick up," he pleads as the call connects. "_Please_, pick up."

"Hello?" Gabriella murmurs into the speaker right before the fourth ring cuts off. Disinterest and irritation fill her voice.

"Gabriella…!" Troy's brain scrambles for words that he can use to appeal to her. To apologize. " I'm sorry I didn't answer your call. I-I was taking a Pre-Calculus test, and you know how the teachers here are about cell pho-"

"Troy, is this not going to work?"

"What? No!" Troy insists, begs. "This _works_. It's working out just fine! I just-"

"I need you to be there whenever I have to talk to you, and you weren't." Gabriella sounds like she's on the verge of tears, and Troy wants to punch himself, like he always does when he makes her cry. "I _can't_ have my heart one thousand miles away at East High, while I'm at Stanford, Troy."

"I know," Troy says quietly.

"If this- if _we _are going to work, you have to be there when I need you."

"I know." Troy's voice cracks a little. It feels like a two ton weight has just plummeted from the sky and landed full force on his chest. "I'll be there," he assures her. "I'll answer your calls. I promise."

Gabriella lets out a long sigh and pauses.

As he waits for her to respond, Troy can hear other people chatting and their footfalls squeaking and clicking in the hallway as the pass by on their way to their next class. He hopes that no one decides to stop in to do their business and catches East High's Primo Boy on the verge of an emotional meltdown, because he's a big fat screw-up who can't stop his perfect relationship from falling apart right in front of him.

"You better," Gabriella finally says. "I have to go to my next class. I'll call you later."

"Okay," Troy replies. There's a smile on his face, but the odd, heavy feeling in his chest doesn't seem to match it. "Gabriella, thank you so much for giving me another-"

The call is disconnected. She hung up.

_Chance_, Troy finishes mentally. He lingers in the bathroom for a minute, entirely unsure of what his emotions are doing. His stomach is churning like he might throw up. His heart is palpitating with a mixture of something that feels like relief, and, strangely enough,_ anxiety_. Unrest. It takes a bit for him to steady himself.

By the time he does, he's late for his AP English class. Luckily enough, the English teacher appears to be running late, too, so Troy is spared from receiving a scolding or a detention. Ryan, who sits beside him in that class, immediately discerns that something is wrong.

"What happened?" The blond boy asks as Troy drops into his seat. His voice is soft, gentle, and worried. It's such a sharp contrast to Gabriella's intonation that Troy's heart aches.

"I had a… um, phone call," Troy replies. He feels sick.

"Gabriella." It's more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah. She wasn't exactly in a good mood."

"Things… Things are rough between the two of you, huh?"

Troy can't lie to Ryan. Especially not when the performer has placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and can read him like an open book, anyway. He nods faintly. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Ryan. I just can't seem to make her happy."

Ryan is quiet. He opens his mouth briefly, as if searching for the right words, the words to cheer Troy up, or make him forget about Gabriella and his apparent inability to be the boyfriend that she wants, for the next forty-five minutes. No words come, though.

It occurs to Troy that if Ryan can't be optimistic about his and Gabriella's future together, then, maybe this _won't_ work.

Ryan's eyes suddenly fall tentatively to Troy's lips.

A flash from Troy's dream fills the brunette boy's mind. He recalls the sensation of his lips on Ryan's, the softness, the taste, the way it felt to have Ryan in his arms. Troy's heart rate picks up, and he lowers his eyes to Ryan's lips, too. They're a tantalizing dark pink. Not glittery like Gabriella's, and they probably don't taste like her lip gloss. But, that's a good thing. Ryan _isn't _Gabriella, after all.

Troy's heart urges him to, _Do it_. A voice in the back of his head, however, reminds him that he's _Gabriella's boyfriend_. Being with her sometimes feels like navigating a minefield. She laughs at things that aren't funny, makes Troy pay for and set up all of their dates, criticizes him when he fails to make anything but perfect grades, even if she kept him up too late to do his homework, looks at him with disapproval far more often than warmth, and now, for the third time in their year and nearly five month long relationship, she's probably contemplating breaking up with him.

But, she's still his girlfriend. The girl who knows him better than anyone else, who has seen the _real _him behind his image as the Wildcat basketball star. Gabriella is the reason that he ventured outside of his clique and discovered that he actually enjoys singing and dancing and being onstage. She was his first kiss. They're the "perfect couple". They're "meant to be". He can't just break up with her. That would be quitting out on his first relationship. Troy Bolton, East High's superstar, doesn't quit. He doesn't screw up. He has to win. He has to always be_ the best_ at everything he does.

_Besides_, Troy reminds himself, _I don't _deserve_ Ryan. He's too good. Too nice. Too certain of who he is, what he wants, and where he's going. I don't know any of that. I'm a_ mess_. A fucking walking train-wreck…. And, I'd wind up being nothing but a disappointment to him, too. _His chest constricts and a painful ache seizes it. This time, he's not sure that he's going to be able to fight the tears back.

"Troy?" The English teacher, Mrs. Cardellini, calls, having finally arrived. "Are you all right? Do you need to go see the nurse?"

_Yes, Mrs. Cardellini, I'm fine. No, Mrs. Cardellini… I'm really not. I'm not okay. _Both answers cross Troy's mind, but he doesn't speak. He _can't_. Even when Ryan leaves his chair and draws him into an embrace. Even when he buries his face in Ryan's dress shirt and clings to the pretty blond like his life depends on it. Even when Ryan inevitably has to let go, so the lesson can begin, and Troy feels like something vital is being ripped away from him.

Twenty minutes into the class period, however, Troy and Ryan are reading _The_ _Catcher In The Rye_, and pointing out lines that act as subtext to imply that Holden Caulfield is a closeted homosexual, for fun. Troy can't help but break into a smile as Ryan highlights Holden's extensive comments on the "sexiness", of his male roommate, and the scene where Holden hires a prostitute and merely speaks to her, expressing no sexual interest in her whatsoever. "That _does_ sound pretty gay," Troy is finally able to say.

"That's what I've been thinking for _years_," Ryan concurs delightedly. "But," his smile slips a little from his face, the light leaving his eyes. His voice takes on a note of disappointment. "You know how people are. No girl wants a guy that they find attractive to turn out to be batting for the other team."

A thought registers in Troy's mind. One that makes him smirk cheerfully with what feels like it might be an epiphany. "It's good news for the _guys _who might be attracted to him, though," he says. He gives Ryan a light, playful nudge. Perhaps, for emphasis.

Confusion quirks Ryan's brows and the corners of his mouth for just a few seconds before he gets the intended message. He nudges Troy back, unable to conceal the wide grin that dominates his face.

Joy floods Troy's chest, erasing his doubts, his anxieties. His head finds its way onto Ryan's shoulder. It's warm, and sturdy enough to make him feel safe there. A significant part of him wants things to stay this way forever, wants the future to not come along and change everything. The future is a big, frightening place, and without Ryan at his side, he's not sure if he'll be able to make it.

So, he focuses on the last thirty minutes of this class, and plans to store every moment of the next couple of weeks before graduation that he spends with Ryan, away, where he can hold onto them forever.

8-8-8-8-8

"Mom! Dad! I'm home!" Troy announces as he plops his book bag onto one of the chairs in the kitchen.

"In here, Troy," his father, East High's basketball coach and physical education teacher, answers him. Troy follows his dad's voice to his parents' bedroom, where he finds his father standing up, holding a stack of envelopes in his hand. The light in the senior Bolton's gray eyes is harsh, and Troy feels his stomach clench with the desire to duck into his own bedroom and hide. "A college in Phoenix, universities in California, Pittsburgh, New York…" Coach Bolton raises his eyes to look at his son. "We only discussed you going to U of A, Troy. What's all this?"

"Every kid in high school gets letters from colleges all over the country, dad. Not just me," Troy answers, trying to avoid looking into his father's eyes.

"Yeah, but you never told me about all these. What's going on?" Coach Bolton lets out a strained sort of laugh. "I mean, are you looking at other schools, or-?!"

Troy's stomach churns as he asks, "Yeah. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" He doesn't want to have to deal with this, right now.

"Come on, bud. We've talked about you going to U of A-"

_-ever since you were a little kid_, Troy finishes mentally, in time with his father. "I know," he murmurs.

"U of A is a _darned _good school. You can get discovered by important people there, Troy."

"I know, dad. But, maybe I don't want to limit myself to just one school."

"Is this because of Gabriella?"

Her name causes an almost paralyzing ache to pierce Troy's chest. He really does think he's going to be sick. He finds the strength to shoot his father a desperate, incredulous look. _Don't do this, dad. _Please_. _

Luckily, his mother's voice fills the hall, saving both of them from having to continue the conversation. "Boys?! I'm home. Jack, I need help starting dinner!"

Jack Bolton hesitates.

Troy's phone goes off a second later. It's Gabriella. Troy feels dazed and light-headed as he fumbles to answer her call, just like he promised. "Hey, Gabriella. How was your day?"

"Troy, we need to talk."

It feels more like a dream than reality as Troy makes his way to his bedroom and she tells him that the distance is too much to handle. That she can't be a "little adult", and come down to attend the prom with him, and be present for her graduation, despite that being their plan from the time Troy gave her his blessing to go to Stanford.

Or, in reality: he gave her his blessing to move on and leave him behind.

Troy doesn't even have the strength to cry as she decides for both of them, again, that it's _over_. That _they're_ over, and everything between them might as well amount to nothing.

She hangs up without a "goodbye".

For some reason, Troy checks the duration of the call. It lasted about thirty-five seconds. Pauses included.

He has enough time to consider that funny in a really spiteful sense, that a year and nearly five months could come to an end in less than forty seconds, before his mind blanks.

8-8-8-8-8

A soft, familiar hand, touches his forehead.

Opening his eyes, Troy can just make out waves of dark hair. "Gabriella?" He implores, his voice thin and weak.

"It's me, honey," his mom replies.

Troy's heart sinks, but, he's still happy to see her. At the moment, all he wants is for his mother to magically fix everything, the way that moms do.

"You don't feel feverish," Mrs. Bolton murmurs, both to herself and her son. "Did you not eat well at school?"

Troy tries to think back to earlier that day, and recollect the items on the lunch menu. "I don't think so," he replies shakily. His vision adjusts, and he becomes aware that he's laying in his bed. He doesn't remember getting there. "What happened?"

"You got a phone call from Gabriella," his mother informs him. "Not even a minute later, we heard a loud thud from your room, and came running to see what the noise was. We found you sprawled out on the floor, unconscious."

It all comes rushing back. The phone call. The break-up… Troy knew it was going to hurt. It was going to emotionally devastate him to lose her again. But… _Shit. I can't believe I passed out._ "I'm sorry," he says softly.

"Don't apologize. Just take it easy, okay?" His mother brushes his hair out of his eyes and smooths out the quilt that's been draped over him. "We're having tacos for dinner, tonight. I'll let you know when they're done."

"Okay." That actually sounds really good, even if Troy's not sure that he'll be able to stomach eating anything for a while.

As his mother exits his bedroom, she flicks off the main light, leaving only the dim golden glow of the lamp on Troy's nightstand, and the traces of sunlight shining through the curtains, to illuminate the room.

That picture of Gabriella in her powdered blue sweater, the first picture that he ever took of her, smiles at Troy. In the dim light, her once warm, inviting expression appears off-putting and mocking. She's reminding him that he failed. That she's finally cut him out of her life, and is now free to move onto greener pastures. His head swims and his stomach lurches.

Gabriella Montez; his first kiss, his first relationship, his _ex_-girlfriend.

Troy turns the picture away from him and flops back against his mattress where he buries his head under the blankets.

_I feel like the guy in the Beatles' song, "Yesterday"_, he thinks as he waits for his stomach to settle and his head to stop throbbing.

8-8-8-8-8

There's a voice in the back of your mind, one that's supposed to tell you when you have a stupid idea, an idea that will wind up mortifying you, or is doomed to go terribly, horrendously wrong. Somewhere down the line, Troy learned how to block this voice out. Just _this _particular voice, unfortunately, not the other ones that constantly battle one another for dominance and control over the direction that he's meant to take next.

His ability to block this voice out is probably why he sneaks out of the house, after dinner, climbs into his truck, and, armed only with a Google Maps search result he printed out in the school library, and his fully charged cell phone, he peels off toward California.

Gabriella doesn't answer when he calls to touch base with her, but that's all right. _I'll just surprise her_, Troy tells himself, his stomach knotting with enough force to make him queasy. He's not going to lie down and let her slip through his fingers. Maybe, he can convince her that they can make this work. Graduation is only a few weeks away, then he can move out to California, too, to make things easier for her.

Yeah. Yeah. _That's_ what he'll do.

Troy resolves this in the first ten minutes. Three _hours _go by with only the radio to keep him company as he approaches the border between New Mexico and Nevada. The drive is long, lonely, and extensively _long_. Outside the windows, the sky grows dark, and Troy almost wishes that he would have asked Chad, or even Ryan to join him. Some company would be both of great reassurance, and would offer assistance in keeping him alert, as his head still feels fuzzy. But, he shakes the grogginess off. A bruised finger or two didn't prevent him from leading his teammates to victory in their final game of the season, and losing consciousness won't stop him from trying to be good enough for Gabriella.

The song, "Shattered", by OAR comes on, and when Troy hears the line about "turning the car around", doubt settles heavily in the pit of his stomach and clenches his chest. _Was this a bad idea?_ He questions himself, anxiously chewing at the inside of his mouth.

Twenty minutes later, he hears it. The shakiness, the spluttering. There's his answer.

"No. No no no no no. Come on," he pleads with the truck's engine. "Don't do this. Please…!_ Shit_." The headlights, his only source of illumination on this stretch of desert road, aside from the stars in the sky, go out. The purr of the engine ceases. Then, the dashboard lights shut off.

It's dark. It's cold, because the heater conked out, too. Troy is alone and stranded. He's fucked up. _Again_.

Troy inhales slowly, steadily. He hears what sounds like the rattling of a snake's tail somewhere nearby, and wishes he was home, safe in his warm bed. "Shit, I'd actually be _grateful_ to get the U of A lecture from my dad, right now," he mutters to himself with a dry laugh. A feeling of lightheadedness swamps his brain. Right now, he would probably be getting ready to turn in for the night, if he was back at the house. And, his parents wouldn't be discovering that he's gone, panicking, and desperately phoning everyone they know to try to figure out where he went. Running his hands through his hair, he smacks his head into the dashboard. "I'm stupid. I'm so fucking _stupid_…!"

He'd always heard about guys that were willing to do dumb things for a girl- cut their hair, or spike it up and put frosted blond on the tips, get beaten up by bigger, tougher, _meaner_ guys because it turns out that the girl is actually into abusive assholes who ditch class to smoke weed in the bathroom, wear ridiculous looking clothes in imitation of some douchey fad, utterly humiliate themselves by attempting to serenade the girl with an "original song" played on an acoustic guitar… He never thought that _he_ was one of those guys. Evidently, though, that's one more thing he was wrong about.

Forcing himself upright, he pulls out his cell phone and scrolls to Gabriella's name. She picks up on the third ring, and the intensity of the burst of hope in Troy's chest _hurts_. "Gabriella…!"

"Troy, why are you calling me?" Based on her inflection, alone, her mood is indeterminable. All that Troy can ascertain is that she doesn't sound particularly happy.

"I'm on my way to see you," Troy says. He feels oddly like a child about to be scolded for drawing on the walls, or flushing an expensive piece of jewelry down the toilet.

Gabriella sighs. "Troy, earlier, that phone call was me saying "goodbye". I love you, Wildcat, but I _can't _do this. I have class in the morning, and a new life here, and…." She pauses and sniffles. "So, stop making this difficult for me."

Her words are like a knife to the gut. "Gabriella, I…!" Troy tries, hot tears of failure burning his eyes.

"Don't call me anymore." She says it in a near whisper, but the reverberation of that statement in Troy's skull is deafening.

Troy's throat constricts painfully. He is unable to say a single thing as her end of the line goes silent, or as the dial tone beeps away in his ears. As he ends the call, he wants to lay back in the driver's seat, give up, and go to sleep. Hell, he wouldn't even mind getting bitten by a rattlesnake, or devoured by a coyote, at this point. But…_ My parents, and Chad, the guys, Kels, and _Ryan_… They'd miss me. _With a tiny bit of renewed strength at that thought, he picks up the phone and makes one more call.

8-8-8-8-8

It's two a.m. when Jack Bolton pulls his sleek minivan into the Boltons' driveway.

Troy couldn't quite believe it when he stirred, goosebumps prickling the hair on his chilled skin, took in the cockpit of his truck, and squinted out the window, right into the blinding glare of a pair of headlights.

After vowing to pay his father back for the tow truck expenses, the three hour and twenty minute drive home was almost unbearably silent. As he shuts the engine off, Jack Bolton turns to his son, and Troy jumps at the sudden sound of speech. "Do we need to have a talk with school counselor? …'Cause it doesn't look like you're handling this situation with Gabriella very well."

"No, dad. Everything's fine." Troy hopes that he at least sounds like he believes that.

"You know…" His dad purses his lips and grips the steering wheel. "Bein' in a relationship… it's not always easy." His gray eyes slide to Troy. "But, it shouldn't be _that_ difficult to get a girl that likes you to come and see you. I know she has big things going on in her life, but if Gabriella was serious about makin' things work between the two of you, she'd at least come down to go to the prom with you."

"Yeah… I don't know, dad," Troy admits softly. He's immensely relieved that his father isn't angry at him, yet, the gravity of the sentiment in the senior Bolton's advice hits him pretty hard, all the same. "I wish things were that simple with Gabriella."

His dad is at a loss for words. He seems to want to offer Troy condolences, or say something reassuring and uplifting. Instead, he waits until they're getting out of the vehicle to tell Troy, "You get to bed, okay?"

Troy simply nods and murmurs, looking into his father's eyes, "Thanks for going to get me."

Coach Bolton holds his son's gaze. Concern, and something that is uncomfortably close to helplessness, darken his eyes. "Yeah," he says quietly.

Troy enters his room, slips out of his clothes, and throws on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a sleeveless undershirt. He then nestles in beneath his quilt and switches the lamp on his nightstand off, immersing his room in darkness. With no distractions, he can't stop his mind from recalling everything that Gabriella said. And, a lump rises in his throat. _Why did she tell me she _loves _me if she's just going to keep saying "goodbye"?_

8-8-8-8-8

Troy doesn't tell anyone about the break-up. Not his parents, not even his best friend. It's not as though he doesn't want someone to confide in. Talking about your problems is good, it's healthy. He's known that since middle school. No, the fact is, he just doesn't want to be any more of a burden to the people he cares about.

He doesn't want to go to school, either, but he makes himself get out of bed, eat half of the Eggo waffle his mother toasted for him, and brush his teeth. He has obligations to fulfill. He is _not_ going to let Ryan and Kelsi down. Gabriella may have left him, and it feels vaguely like a chunk of his heart was torn away when she hung up the phone, but the sun still rose in the sky, and life is still carrying on. Just like in that song about Jack and Dianne.

Troy gets to his dresser, though, and it suddenly feels like foreign territory. Plaid, sweaters, black, blue, red, white, khaki, navy, green...

Gabriella's voice swirls about his brain. _"Nice tie. Your shoes don't match, though!"_

_ "Khaki shorts with that shirt?_ Really_, Troy?"_

_ "Purple really isn't your color, Wildcat." _

_ "Troy, _please_ don't wear something that looks bad. Not when you're out in public with me." _

This is wrong. That's wrong. Everything is wrong. Troy digs furiously through his drawers, looking for complementary colors, matching patterns, _anything_ that won't make him look stupid. _If Gabriella was here,_ he tells himself miserably_,_ she_ would know what to do. She'd _tell _me what to wear. _

Nothing seems to work. His mind is a chaotic disaster. He has no idea whether red goes with purple, or plaid and stripes can be worn together, he's completely at a loss.

As he throws his last t-shirt onto the floor, his legs buckle, unable to hold his body weight up, anymore.

"Troy, your dad is heading out the door. You're going to be late for-" Mrs. Bolton cuts herself off. From where she stands at the entrance to Troy's room, she takes in the mess; clothes tossed into haphazard piles all over the floor and the bed, and her teenaged son falling apart in the middle of it all. "Troy, what is _this_?"

After a lengthy pause where his insides squirm with self-loathing, Troy chokes out, "I don't know what to wear."

8-8-8-8-8

Unsurprisingly, Ryan appears to surmise what happened, either from the look on his face, Troy supposes, or the aura that he's giving off. Regardless, Ryan pauses at Troy's desk in homeroom, distracting Troy from staring at Gabriella's empty seat. "You look good, Troy," he says with his brilliant Ryan smile.

It doesn't feel like words thrown out there just to provide the recipient with a temporary burst of confidence. With Ryan, every compliment he addresses to Troy feels one-hundred percent genuine. This one inspires a faint smile to tug at the corners of Troy's mouth. "Really?"

"_Really_, really."

As warm blush creeps across Troy's face, he has to laugh at the stupidity of his outburst, earlier this morning. In the end, he wound up tugging on a white t-shirt, a blue and black plaid over-shirt, and a pair of black jeans.

Ryan arcs an eyebrow, perplexed at Troy's reaction.

Troy motions for the smaller boy to move in closer so he can relay to him, "You know, Ry, my mom actually picked this out for me."

"Oh! Well, hey." Ryan recovers from his surprise and says with an earnest smile, "Your mom has great taste."

"I'll be sure to let her know." Troy grins as he watches Ryan walk back to his own desk.

8-8-8-8-8

Classes drag on sluggishly, the rest of the day; merging together into a drawn-out blur. For everyone around him, it's business as usual, so Troy forces himself to pretend that there is nothing out of the ordinary going on on his end, as well.

He is able to pull this off better than he anticipated… until rehearsals for the musical start during free period.

_ A friend like you_, Sharpay vocalizes. She twirls around in a Gabriella-esque fashion and points to Troy from her position on the makeshift balcony, for emphasis.

_Always makes it easy_, Troy sings with her. He walks toward the stage, hoping that he's at least feigning some semblance of the happiness that the Troy Bolton that he's playing in the show- the Troy Bolton who is still happily dating Gabriella Montez- feels during this song.

_I know that you get me_

_ Every time_

Troy's gaze flicks to Ryan, who gives him a gently encouraging smile from backstage.

_ Through every up,_

_ Through every down_

_ You know I'll always _

_ Be around_

_ Through anything, _

_ You can count on mee_eeeee_! _

Sharpay's sugary sweet vocals morph into an ear-splitting shriek as a backdrop comes crashing down behind her.

Troy cringes, his heart racing.

Kelsi jumps up from her seat behind the piano in the orchestra pit.

Ryan's eyes stretch wide, his hands cupped over the bridge of his nose in horror.

Zeke Baylor rushes to the blonde theater queen's aid, and she swoons into his arms.

"It's_ sabotage_!" Sharpay cries out. "Someone is trying to get rid of me before my final show at this school!"

Chad Danforth and his girlfriend, Taylor McKessie, roll their eyes, both of them sporting matching expressions of disgust.

Ms. Darbus sweeps across the stage and begins lecturing the stage crew on the importance of "memorizing the cues to send out certain props and backdrops, so as not to jeopardize the safety of the cast".

"It'll get better," Kelsi assures a crestfallen Troy as everyone files out of the auditorium. She wraps an arm around him in a sort of half-hug. "You'll see."

At lunch, Ryan chips in, "You're doing great, Troy. You and my sister started to sound really good, together."

"You think so?"

Ryan nods. His blue eyes glow sincerely. "Don't worry about the incident, today," he says, touching Troy's shoulder reassuringly. "In theater, it's sort of a good thing for everything that can possibly go wrong to, you know, _go wrong_, before opening night. That way, there's less of a chance of something happening to ruin the show."

"No kidding." Troy smiles slightly between bites of his food.

Ryan gives another sagely nod. "There's a reason we call the final week leading up to the show, 'Hell Week'".

"I've never heard a more fitting title," Troy expresses, only partially joking.

Hearing the final school bell ring brings on a relief akin to having a truck load of bricks lifted off of his shoulders for Troy. _Maybe_, he allows himself to hope as he slides the straps of his book bag on,_ the last few weeks of the school year will just meld together, passing by in a blur, and I'll only remember spending time with Ryan._

8-8-8-8-8

That evening, Troy is hyper conscious of the pictures of Gabriella in his bedroom. They're physical evidence of what he let slip through his fingers. Her smiling face seems to jeer him, _Why didn't you fight for me? Why did you let me go so easily, Troy?_

_ I didn't mean to. I_ tried_…! I…! _Troy assures her, assures himself. But, it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them. With shaking hands and an unsteady pulse, Troy takes out his cellphone and dials Gabriella's number.

He _can't _just give up. He's not supposed to be a failure.

After the first ring, someone answers only to immediately hang up.

Troy doesn't know what he was expecting. He tosses his phone across the room and flops down onto his bed. Grief resurges with the force of a blow to the chest, and it feels as though she's broken up with him, all over again. As he closes his eyes, Troy wishes he could wake up and find himself living someone else's life.

When he reopens his eyes, the room is dark, and for an instant, he believes that he's legitimately become someone else.

Then, his mother calls for him to come and get his dinner.

8-8-8-8-8

The conversations in the cafeteria all blend into each other, becoming an incoherent buzz. From his isolated table, Troy makes out the voices of Chad Danforth, Zeke Baylor, and Jason Cross, his friends and former teammates on the basketball team. He doesn't enjoy eavesdropping, it makes him feel sort of scummy, but he zeroes in on their exchange, figuring that the topic is harmless.

"Gabriella's probably hitting it off big time with the brains up at Stanford," Chad says while squirting a packet of ketchup onto his french fries.

Zeke and Jason enthusiastically input with their agreement.

Troy really doesn't want to hear this, but now that he's heard Gabriella's name, he can't tune them out. Especially not when Zeke quips, "Yeah, but are we talkin' about the brains in their _heads_, or the brains in their _pants_?"

Boisterous laughter ascends from their table.

Troy pitches his bagged lunch into the nearest trashcan and leaves the cafeteria as quickly as his legs can carry him.

8-8-8-8-8

East High's rooftop garden wasn't exactly the best place to go if he wanted to avoid thinking about Gabriella, Troy realizes in retrospect as he stands among the exotic plant life.

He invited Gabriella up here, his junior year. He shared this place with her, and while sitting side by side, they confided in each other how it felt to be alienated from your peers via being placed on a pedestal, or dubbed a "freaky genius girl", due to only one aspect of their social appearances. Together, they agreed to do the school musical, because they wanted to break free of their schoolmates' perceptions of them.

Troy and Gabriella once had so much in common.

At least, Troy thought they did.

Now, she's one-thousand miles away, and might well be talking Stoichiometry and advanced conjugations of the language of _l'amor_ with some freaky genius boy named Shawn, while he…

"Troy?" Ryan's light voice causes Troy's heart to skip a beat.

"Hey." Troy raises his hand in a half-hearted wave.

"So, I heard what Zeke said, and…" Ryan starts.

"Yeah, I know. Gabriella's getting good and acquainted with the pelvic regions of the geniuses at Stanford. Also, yeah, I'm a growing boy, and I need to eat." Troy falls into a seat on the bench, making certain not to accidentally bump into any of the potted plants set up around him, and drops his gaze into his lap. His stomach picks that moment to growl, demanding that food find a way into it, but his throat feels far too tight to swallow anything, even in liquid form.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. But, you're right."

Troy stiffens, biting the inside of his mouth to brace himself. Ryan_ isn't_-

"You_ do _need to eat."

Troy's eyes flick up guiltily. Ryan is one of the last people alive who would degrade him, _mock_ him, like that. Ryan is also one of the last people alive he should be copping an attitude with. "Ry, I'm sorry. I-" he starts.

"Forget it." Ryan shrugs off both the apology and the very brief tension between them like it's second nature to him. "You've got more important things to concern yourself with than what she's up to," he adds in a low voice. He shuffles his feet in a way that Troy has always found endearingly awkward and holds out a tray of food containing a fruit cup, a sandwich, a carton of white milk, and a chocolate chip cookie. Soft encouragement lights up his eyes, and Troy can't refuse him even if he wanted to.

Troy takes the tray. "Thank you, Ry," he conveys, hoping that his eyes hold a even a fraction of the warmth spreading throughout his body.

Ryan brushes off the expression of gratitude for his deed. "Don't mention it." He swings his arms before tucking them behind his back and looking around. It's evident that he feels out of place. "Maybe, I should-"

Troy shakes his head. "Sit," he says around a mouthful of ham, turkey, cheese, and lettuce on white bread, scooting aside to make room for the other boy.

Ryan does as Troy instructs him to.

Silence settles between them. Troy notes that it _isn't_ the thick, distinctly uncomfortable silence that used to stretch on when he and Gabriella couldn't think of anything to say to each other. Ryan is simply waiting patiently while Troy puts some much needed fuel into his otherwise empty stomach. He seems to alternate between eyeing the plants, watching Troy, and getting lost in his own thoughts.

Troy stares out past the greenhouse, at the expanse of the rooftop, and feels his throat constrict with the memory of himself and Gabriella twirling across that very area. She skipped class, one day, several months ago, to teach him how to dance so he wouldn't make a fool of himself at the prom. "She's everywhere," he murmurs.

"Hm?" Ryan turns to Troy, giving the brunette his undivided attention.

"Gabriella," Troy replies. He peels the flaps of the milk carton open and takes a sip from it as frustration clenches his abdomen. "People talk about her at school, there are pictures of her in my locker, she's in the show we're doing, this garden is_ filled_ with memories of her, there are pictures of her all over my bedroom…" He pauses and shakes his head incredulously. "It's like she's everywhere I go, Ryan."

His forehead creasing, Ryan chews the inside of his mouth in concern and deliberation. "Then, maybe you need to go somewhere that doesn't make you think about her. A "Gabriella-free", zone," he proposes.

The words feel like a light at the end of a tunnel. "Did you have somewhere in particular in mind?" Troy asks, leaning into Ryan just a bit.

"Um… well…" Pink colors Ryan's fair face. "I'd really lo-_like_ if you, I-I mean…"

Troy gives the blond an encouraging nod. He can't help but smile at the fact that, even though Ryan struggles to communicate with people, at times, he's never allowed that to deter him from trying to get close to others.

Ryan successfully recovers his poise. "It-It gets kind of lonely, puttering about a huge mansion all day." A very slight flirtatious flutter of his eyelashes accompanies his words.

Troy takes hold of Ryan's hand. "It would be my honor to keep you company."

"It would be _my _honor to _have_ your company." Ryan's eyes shine with affection.

Troy's heart feels the lightest it's felt in weeks. Ryan is going to provide him with a reprieve, an escape, and he's going to get to spend time with the sweet, insightful, quirky, beautiful, talented blond boy, in the process. Maybe, his wish to become someone else is coming true.

At the same time, both boys seem to realize that they're still holding hands. Blushing, they simultaneously pull away. "So, um, you… you actually _heard_ what Zeke said?" Troy asks.

Ryan nods and rolls his eyes in a repulsed fashion. "Yeah, I did. I hope you won't take offense to my saying so, but your friends are assholes, Troy."

Troy is somewhat unnerved by the statement, but can't bring himself to deny it. Perhaps that's because some part of him, however minuscule, has known that his friends aren't exactly the greatest people since his junior year, when they actively tried to dissuade him from participating in the callback audition for the winter musical and nearly destroyed his budding relationship with Gabriella, simply because they felt that winning a basketball game and maintaining the status quo that jocks were "too cool", to interact with skaters, brainiacs, and drama geeks, was more important than their friend's happiness. The other times that they got upset with him, though, such as their during summer vacation, when he was trying to increase his chances of getting a scholarship to U of A, or laughed at him, like when his name was called as the fourth contender for a scholarship to Juilliard…_ Their anger was entirely _my _fault, and them laughing was all in good fun… _Right_? _Troy tries to reason with himself.

But, _really_, if the guy who has to deal with Sharpay Evans on a daily basis deems someone an "asshole", who is Troy Bolton to question him?

"Not_ all_ of my friends are assholes, Ry," Troy says softly. He touches his forehead to Ryan's, knocking the smaller boy's hat slightly askew. Ryan takes the hint and breaks into a grin that Troy eagerly reciprocates. As Ryan fixes the angle of his hat, Troy wraps an arm around the blond, drawing him into his chest.

8-8-8-8-8

When he arrives for their private after school rehearsal, Ryan beckons Troy, who is sitting at the back of the auditorium, to follow him to the stage. "We're going to do something a little… _different_, today."

His curiosity piqued, Troy slips his hands into his jeans pockets and falls into step behind the blond.

"I have a song that I'd like to work on with you." Troy must have subconsciously pulled a face, or something, because Ryan hastily assures him, "Don't worry. It's not from the musical."

Ryan ascends the stairs onto the stage and briefly disappears. He emerges seconds later, wheeling out the big stereo system from backstage, and it suddenly occurs to Troy that a certain tiny brunette composer is nowhere to be seen. "Where's Kels?"

"Her mom needed her to run some errands," Ryan replies. "She apologized profusely, but I gave her the go ahead. She's working herself ragged, rearranging the songs to suit my sister's vocal style." His voice brims with sympathy as he hooks his Ipod up to the speaker and grabs the stereo's remote control.

"Geez," Troy winces.

"Bu-uut, anyway…" Ryan walks back downstage. He holds out a hand, and Troy helps him, easily lowering the lightweight boy onto the floor in the orchestra pit. It doesn't escape his notice that the male half of the Evans twins feels more natural and… _right_ in his arms than his sister ever has. Once he's situated himself, a lightly flushed Ryan pulls a sheet of lyrics out of his messenger bag, and sets it on the piano. He then proceeds to take a seat behind the instrument. "I um, I think this exercise will be cathartic for you."

"'Cathartic'," Troy echoes, his brows furrowed with intrigue. "Well, can't hurt to try, huh?" He says with a shrug.

Ryan smiles, as if thrilled by Troy's willingness. He points the remote at the stereo, and a track with a gripping guitar intro pours out of the speakers. Putting his hands to the keys, Ryan plays along as he sings, his pitch-perfect light alto-tenor soulful, and just a touch embittered:

_ You could change your life-_

_ If you wanna_

_ You could change your clothes-_

_ If you wanna_

_ If you change your mind,_

_ Well, that's the way it goes_

_ But, I'm gonna keep your jeans_

_ And, your old flat hat-_

_ 'Cause I wanna_

_ They look good on me_

_ You're never gonna get them back_

His fingers move daintily across the keys and his vocal dynamic increases gently.

_At least not today, _

_ Not today_

_ Not today_

_ 'Cause…! _

The next set of lyrics directly impacts Troy's heart.

_ If it's over,_

_ Let it go and,_

_ Come tomorrow, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ I'm just a bird that's already flown away_

Ryan looks to Troy, and he seems to be pleading with him;

_Laugh it off_

_ And let it go, and_

_ When you wake up, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ Haven't you heard that I'm gonna be okay?_

He nods invitingly toward the sheet of lyrics. Troy takes this as a signal to move in closer.

As Ryan finishes his verse with a soft, triumphant sort of laugh and an affirmation of, _Okay_, Troy would have been content to just stand back and listen to Ryan's lovely, lilting voice, but he licks at his upper lip and clears his throat. He does his best to match his voice to the notes sounding from the piano, letting the emotions that drive the words come from his heart. His legs shake as his subconscious conjures an image of Gabriella, and he addresses the lyrics to her.

_You could say you're bored-_

_ If you wanna_

_ You could act real tough-_

_ If you wanna _

_ You could say you're torn,_

_ But I've heard enough_

_ Thank you, _

_ You made my mind up_

_ For me_

_ When you started to_

_ Ignore me_

_ Can you see a single tear?_

_ It isn't gonna happen here_

_ At least, not today_

_ Not today_

_ Not today_

With Ryan beside him, smiling proudly and encouraging him, Troy's confidence increases. Suddenly, the passion that seemed to have left him begins to reemerge and backs up his singing. The break-up _wasn't_ entirely his fault. Gabriella… she made him feel like nothing he did was ever good enough, like he wasn't worth the effort, like he was expendable, in her eyes.

And, for those reasons, maybe it _is_ time to accept that it's over- officially, totally- and to let her go.

_'Cause_

Together, Troy and Ryan sing through the chorus, Ryan providing a harmony to Troy's melody. Troy no longer needs to read the sheet of lyrics. The words are coming directly from his heart.

_If it's over, _

_ Let it go and,_

_ Come tomorrow, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ I'm just a bird that's already flown away_

_ Laugh it off,_

_ And let it go and,_

_ When you wake up, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ Haven't you heard that I'm gonna be okay?_

Ryan thrums out several sweeping chords on the piano, then abandons the instrument to follow Troy onto the stage as Troy continues to sing to an imaginary Gabriella;

_If you're over me, _he sings, climbing over the railing and landing on the makeshift balcony.

_ I'm already over you_

_ If it's all been done_, Ryan agrees.

_What is left to do?_

He moves behind the paned-glass door and opens it. With an enticing pivot of his hips, he joins the brunette on the stage.

_How can you hang up_

_ If the line is dead?_

Troy insists, adrenaline coursing through his veins, invigorating him;

_If you wanna walk, _He grips the railing with both hands and jumps several paces toward center stage.

_ I'm a step ahead_

Ryan moves to the rail and mimics Troy's movement with ease, bringing himself closer to the former athlete.

_ If you're movin' on,_

_ I'm already gone _Troy takes another several steps away from the Gabriella in his mind's eye, and she abruptly vanishes.

_ If the light is off, _Ryan starts, arcing another graceful jump toward Troy.

_ Then it isn't on, _Troy finishes with him, and suddenly, they're face to face. Troy stares into Ryan's sky colored eyes. Ryan raises one of his brows, a proud smile illuminating his face, as if he intends for Troy to comprehend something, and that's when Troy realizes what transpired.

He's just executed the very choreography that he has been grappling with for the last week _perfectly_.

Ryan was right, all along.

Grinning, Troy takes one more step into Ryan and resumes singing softly; _At least, not today_

_Not today_, Ryan vocalizes at a mezzo piano dynamic. He steps into Troy, too.

_Not today_, they finish together. His heart racing, Troy closes his eyes and touches his nose to Ryan's. When the blond not only doesn't pull away, but also nuzzles his nose tenderly against the brunette's, a burst of happiness floods every centimeter of Troy's body.

_I love you, Ryan_, he admits to himself. _Fuck, I love you _so much_…_.!

Troy reopens his eyes to find Ryan's eyes shining with that affection that fills Troy with a sense of empowerment that seems to reach every nerve-ending in his body. Exchanging a glance with each other, the boys spring away from the edge of the balcony, and move back toward the doors. They sing with gusto, their voices blending seamlessly into one another.

_Cause…!_

_ If it's over, _

_ Let it go and,_

They link hands, and execute the next maneuver that Troy struggled to perfect. With each movement, Troy can hear Ryan's light voice reciting the instructions; "_Walk, walk walk. Jump in. Around the world, and… spin out."_

_ Come tomorrow, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ I'm just a bird that's already flown away_

On "flown away", Troy spins Ryan out effortlessly. Ryan stops himself-mid-spin to look to Troy. He beams at the taller boy, marking down another flawless execution. Joy and self-confidence swell in Troy's chest uninhibited. There's no Gabriella to tell him that every other step he's making is another mistake worthy of scathing criticism and penalization, and the guys aren't there to laugh at him.

It's just him, _Troy_, free of all of the pressures that often feel like they're smothering him, Ryan, one of the best friends that he's ever had, the boy who never stopped believing in him and never gave up on him, even when Troy had given up on himself, and the music. Troy feels capable of doing or being anything,and that old spark, the one that drew him to the stage in the first place, has at last been reignited.

Troy takes hold of Ryan's hand, and, while Ryan gives Troy a questioning look very briefly, he follows without hesitation as Troy dashes off of the balcony, backstage, and then out of the auditorium altogether. They run down the hallways of an empty school, their footfalls almost matching their voices in volume.

_ Laugh it off,_

_ And let it go and,_

_ When you wake up, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ Haven't you heard?_

Letting his regained confidence fuel him, Troy opens his locker. "_You're so yesterday,_" he informs the picture of Gabriella before tearing it down.

_So yesterday_

_ So yesterday_

_ So yesterday_, he sings as Ryan backs him up with:

_ If it's over,_

_ Let it go and,_

_ Come tomorrow, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

_ You're just a bird that's already flown away_

Troy takes in the picture of Gabriella, her liquid brown eyes that could either brighten his day, or mercilessly cut him down with one look, her waves of sweet-smelling, shining dark hair that felt so soft when they brushed against his chin, the smile that once felt like his reason for living…

_ You're _

_ So _

_ Yesterday_

_ So yesterday_

_ So yesterday, _he tells her, believing it more with every repetition of the phrase.

Ryan backs him up readily, his voice sonorous and wholeheartedly supportive:

_Laugh it off,_

_ And, let it go and,_

_ When you wake up, it will seem_

_ So yesterday, so yesterday_

Drawing in a breath to steel himself, Troy balls the picture of Gabriella up. He clenches it tightly, not because he wants to hold onto it, to _her_, he acknowledges, but because he isn't afraid, anymore. He makes his way over to a trashcan several feet away.

Ryan nods supportively. "Go for it", his eyes say.

_Haven't you heard that I'm gonna be okay? _Troy vocalizes, his voice soft, but his conviction in those words unwavering. He holds the picture over the trash barrel and lets go.

It's done.

At least, for today.

Newly energized, Troy runs back to Ryan and envelops the petite boy in his arms, hugging him tightly. Ryan returns the embrace, his hands coming up to squeeze Troy's shoulder blades. It feels like two puzzle pieces have at long last interlocked. Ryan's sweet, borderline intoxicating scent fills Troy's nose and Troy plants a kiss on the blond's soft, smooth cheek. "Thank you, Ryan," he whispers into the crook of Ryan's creamy neck. "You really _are_ easier to dance with than she is."

It takes a second, but Ryan melts into Troy's arms, pressing his head against the taller boy's cheek. His hat is nearly knocked off of his head, but he doesn't appear to care. "It's nothing at all. _Really_," he replies, his voice husky and just slightly unsteady.

Troy detects_ something_ in Ryan's intonation, and it makes him wish that for just a sliver in time, he wouldn't ever have to let go.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry beyond words that it took me so long to get this uploaded. I realized how lengthy this story was becoming and decided to split it into two parts.**

**Part two should be on the way, soon. **

**Until then, please stay safe, my dear readers, and thank you for reading!**


	2. Part 2

Parachute

2.

"Are you sure you wanna stay at the Evans place?" Coach Bolton asks his son. His brows are knitted and his gray eyes are darkened with concern.

A thorn of guilt pierces Troy's chest for getting upset with his father, nearly a week ago. "Yeah, I'm sure. I think a change of scene will be good for me. It'll be therapeutic, you know?" When he announced his plan to seek refuge with Ryan, he had to provide an explanation for his departure from the Bolton residence. That entailed breaking down and divulging to his parents that he and Gabriella were no longer an item.

They offered him the sympathetic comments and pitying glances that he expected, along with the typical spiel about "other fish in the sea". Under different circumstances, that part of the usual show of support in the aftermath of the dissolving of a relationship that he poured so much into would have earned the speaker a half-hearted withering look before Troy shut down and let his melancholy consume him. With his current circumstances, however, Troy not only accepts the notion of "other fish", he agrees with it . If he's honest, there's been "other fish", or rather,_ one_ "fish" for some time, now.

"Well, you be on your best behavior," Mrs. Bolton says as she takes Troy into a hug.

"I will, mom," he promises her as he returns the embrace.

"And, don't go getting into any… _ trouble_ with that Sharpay girl, okay?" His father adds anxiously as Troy and his mother step away from each other.

"That won't even be an issue, dad," Troy assures him, his stomach roiling at the implication in that sentiment. Fooling around with Sharpay Evans is the absolute last thing he'd _ever_ do, even if he _was_ looking for a sloppy rebound. Troy tosses his last bag into the back of his truck, and then climbs into the driver's seat. He lets out a relieved sigh when the engine starts without much difficulty, gives both of his parents a parting wave, and then maneuvers out of the driveway.

Faint homesickness sets in after a few seconds. He's not used to staying away from home for extended periods of time without his parents right there with him. Whatever college he winds up attending, whether it's his dad's alma mater in their home state, or the Juilliard University all the way across the country in New York, it will be tough on the entire family if and when he moves out. He'll miss getting paternal advice, watching TV in the evenings with them, and sitting down to a nice home-cooked meal. He'll miss playing basketball, helping out with repairs around the house and in the garage, and cooking on the grill, with his dad, and shopping, learning how to sew, how to treat specific ailments, and studying capillaries, arteries, and the human nervous system, with his mom.

As for his parents, knowing that their only son is just a few weeks away from crossing the stage at graduation, and, eventually, starting his own life as an adult, doesn't come without its own concerns and burdens.

Still, Troy can't help but feel like he's shrugging off a pair of shackles as he heads down the road, away from his room full of pictures of Gabriella, and the self-deprecating thoughts that these pictures cause.

8-8-8-8-8

It's no surprise that Sharpay answers the door when Troy arrives at the Evans mansion. "Hi, Troy," she coos, fluttering her eyelashes and smirking. "I take it you're here to see _me_, so we can rehearse our kissing scene?"

Troy forces out a laugh, his skin prickling with discomfort. "Actually, I um…"

A pair of pale hands appears from behind Sharpay, and, coming down on her shoulders, lightly moves her aside. "Sis, at least give him room to get into the house," Ryan's light voice chides the blonde girl.

Sharpay lets out a scoff, wearing a scandalized expression as she recedes from Troy's line of sight and winds up on the other side of the open door, no longer visible to Troy.

Relief washes over Troy in a giant wave as Ryan's familiar blue eyes, hatted head, and soft features come into view. "Hey!" Ryan greets his brunette houseguest cheerfully.

"Hey," Troy returns, smiling.

"Come on in." Ryan uses one arm to guide Troy into the house, and the other to gesture vaguely at the estate's interior. "We have movies we can watch, I can help you with your homework, there's plenty of music to listen to, and we have a game room with-"

Before Troy can even attempt to respond, both he and Ryan are cut off by another knock at the door. Together, they turn around to check out the identity of the other visitor. Troy fleetingly hopes that it isn't Zeke. He sincerely doesn't want to be subjected to the sounds of his friend "buttering Sharpay's muffin", and he's about ninety-nine percent sure that Ryan shares that feeling.

"Can someone get that?" Sharpay calls out, her voice echoing down the entry way.

Troy almost expects a butler to come skittering out of a corridor and open the front door. When one doesn't appear, he turns to Ryan, bewildered.

Ryan's mouth promptly clamps shut, his lips pursing in exasperation. He shoots his sister a pointed look. "Shar, I'm-"

"Ry." Sharpay says, silencing his argument, just like that. There's another knock, and she fires back at her brother with an expectant look.

Ryan heaves a sigh of resignation, then moves over to answer the door.

Troy can only shake his head. Sharpay's treatment of her brother is nowhere near as bad as it was over summer vacation, but it still deeply bothers him that Sharpay bosses Ryan around without any regard for his personal feelings.

As Ryan pulls the door open, Tiara Gold, a blonde sophomore and Sharpay's understudy in the musical, steps right in. She crosses the threshold into the entry way of the estate, not bothering to spare Ryan even a passing glance.

_That's pretty _rude, Troy thinks to himself.

"Good evening, Miss Evans," Tiara drawls out, smiling pleasantly as she grips the strap of a large bag hanging from her shoulder. She holds a Starbucks cup in her free hand. The chocolate syrup-coated spiral of whipped cream on top of the beverage is layered so high, it's practically spilling over the lid. "I'm here for our nightly rehearsals."

"Oh, right! Duh!" Sharpay says. However, her inflection, and the self-assured smile that she slaps on, make it obvious that she forgot all about any rehearsal the two girls had scheduled.

Troy and Ryan trade amused glances with each other as Ryan returns to Troy's side.

Reclaiming her controlling demeanor and taking on an assertive stance, Sharpay asks the younger blonde girl, "Did you bring my chocolate chip Frappuccino?"

"Of course," Tiara chirps. She holds the cup up, and Troy notices that the corner of her mouth gives a minute, but telling, twitch of irritation.

Sharpay lets out a giggle. "_Fabulous_!" She says, punctuating the comment with a small squeal of delight. She struts forward, her heels clicking, to retrieve her drink. Tiara transfers the cup over to Sharpay and extracts the straw from a pocket in her bag. Tearing the wrapper open swiftly, she then hands the bright green straw over to Sharpay, who slides it into the designated hole in the lid. It's a very easy and efficient process.

Troy observes,_ It's almost like this is just part of the routine, for them_.

Sharpay takes a sip of the frappe, and then remarks, either to herself or all three of the people in the room, Troy isn't quite sure which, "You know, I don't know why I never thought of getting a personal assistant, before."

"Sometimes, people just happen to come into your life at precisely the right time," Tiara says rather saccharinely, shifting to accommodate the weight of the bag.

Ryan's eyes narrow with suspicion. Troy meets the look that Ryan throws his way, his own brows raised inquisitively. They appear to be on the same wavelength.

"Anyway," Tiara continues, "I couldn't help noticing a strange vehicle parked outside your home; a truck that appears to have gone to rack and ruin."

Troy flushes. His stomach flips with mild embarrassment. Part of him wants to say something in defense of his poor, hand-me-down pickup, even despite all of the trouble it's given him since he inherited the vehicle from his dad. It's his first car. It gives him the freedom to just hop inside and go wherever he feels compelled to… sort of. It may be a rust bucket with a faulty, unreliable engine and a deceased fuel pump, and the issues with it either earned him scornful glares or ridiculing laughter from his friends and Gabriella, but he's really fond of it. Ryan's hand touches Troy's back sympathetically, and Troy feels a pang in his chest._ He didn't laugh at Tiara's comment on my truck…. Like Gabriella would have._

"Oh, that'd be Troy's," Sharpay states flatly. This causes Tiara to finally acknowledge the presence of the other two people in the room. She turns to look at the two boys. Troy gives her a nod, not wanting to combat rude behavior with rude behavior, and Ryan flashes her a strained smile. Sharpay takes another sip from her coffee and adds, "He and my brother are having some kind of extended slumber party."

A smirk curls the ends of Tiara's lips and intrigue lights her hazel eyes. "Are they, now?"

"Yeah," Sharpay affirms. "But, personally, I think Ryan just wants to get in some of his own "rehearsal time", with Troy."

Tiara stifles a laugh.

Heat creeps into Troy's cheeks, and a stricken Ryan's fair face has taken on a reddish hue. The male Evans twin's posture is rigid, his eyes focused intently on the floor. Troy can tell by looking at him that Ryan's insides are writhing with shame. Throwing his arm out to get the attention off of his dear friend, Troy says casually, "Hey, if that's what he has planned, I don't mind." He smiles and adds confidently, "I'll bet anything that Ryan is a _great _kisser."

Ryan perks right up, his eyes glowing softly. A hopeful smile tugs at his lips as he asks, "Really?"

Sharpay falters, her brown eyes stretching wide. She appears to struggle to keep herself from spitting out her next gulp of coffee. "_Really_?" She manages to exclaim.

"Really," Troy confirms, sliding an arm around Ryan's shoulders.

Sharpay scrutinizes Troy, her eyes narrowed, as if searching for an indication that he's lying. An odd smile spreads across Tiara's face. Troy doesn't concern himself with either girl's reaction, however. He's too busy grinning, because the joy radiating from Ryan is contagious, and wondering what kissing Ryan would feel like. Taste like.

"Well, isn't that sweet," Sharpay deadpans before collecting herself and popping out her hip. "Come on," she says, her gaze moving to Tiara. "I wanna make sure you're doing me justice."

Tiara's smile immediately slips from her face, replaced by a docile expression. She wordlessly falls into step behind Sharpay as the girls head down the long hallway and then turn, entering a door to their left.

Ryan and Troy relocate themselves, as well. As Ryan sashays along in front of him, Troy wars with himself to prevent his eyes from training themselves on the outward curves of Ryan's shapely rear end. It doesn't do him any favors that said rear end is emphasized by the blond's form-fitting, eye-catchingly bright pink jeans shot through with black zebra stripes.

"Whoa," Troy marvels, dropping his bags down in the younger Evans twin's spacious room once they've arrived at it. Ryan's bed is _gigantic_; probably the size of two and a half of Troy's twin size bed, at home, put together. The walls of the room are a soft lavender in color. Posters of various musicals adorn them, including posters from some of Ryan and Sharpay's drama club productions. Troy can't help but smile at the sight of Ryan in costume, immersed completely in his element. Then, something else catches his eye. On one wall, there's a poster of Troy, himself. He recalls seeing one like it hanging up around the school during the basketball season.

"Make yourself at home," Ryan says warmly, gesturing vaguely at the room's interior before clasping his hands together and stepping aside. "_Ma maison _is _your_ _maison_."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it." Troy expresses his gratitude with a smile and a nod.

"Don't mention it." Ryan flicks his wrist dismissively.

Troy takes a few more paces into the room, eyeing the poster thoughtfully as he approaches it. It's a complimentary picture of him, he notes, unlike some of the more embarrassing photos that have been used to glorify his existence. He's smiling and dressed in his basketball uniform, biceps exposed. Ryan follows Troy's line of sight and gapes very briefly before offering up a bashful, "Support your school, right?"

"Right," Troy confirms, even though he's not exactly convinced. He flashes Ryan a smirk that's both amused and genuinely flattered. Inside, however, his heart misses a beat with the realization that his feelings for the blond boy might be mutual.

Then, he feels kind of stupid for not seeing that a long time ago. Among everything else, including convincing him to get out onstage to perform in the Lava Springs talent show, last summer, so he could impress the boosters from U of A and receive a scholarship, Ryan, who was afraid of the athletes on the basketball team for most of their junior year, _did _perform backflips and prance around wearing a fifteen pound fur suit as the team mascot, just to encourage cheering and show support for Troy and his teammates.

_After_ he and Troy became friends.

If that's not a display of love, then Troy is honestly not sure what qualifies as one.

_Wait, _love_? Ryan, who is so obviously bound for Broadway it's inevitable that he'll get there, loves _me_? _Troy is given significant pause by the direction his thoughts have taken. In an attempt to ease his racing heart and the heavy feeling constricting his chest, he turns his attention to the soreness in his arm from holding his belongings for so long. He rolls his shoulder and takes in the full length mirror at one end of Ryan's room, and the tall bookshelf lining the wall opposite where they stand. He feels a smile tug lightly at the ends of his mouth as he spots his favorite book, Harper Lee's _To Kill A Mockingbird_, sitting on one of the shelves.

Troy promptly turns to Ryan as the smaller boy says, "There's something about that girl. I just… I don't know." He sighs, folding his arms anxiously over his chest.

"What is it?" Troy inquires gently. He ceases tending to his own arm and moves to rub at the blond's shoulder.

"Tiara doesn't seem trustworthy, to me," Ryan admits in a low voice, looking to Troy. "Shar thinks I'm just being paranoid, or 'xenophobic', or something."

"'Xenophobic'?" Troy echoes, his eyebrow elevated confusedly.

"Her phrasing, not mine," Ryan clarifies. "She says that Tiara is "sweet", and I'm letting my anxieties about the musical cloud my judgment." He stares in the direction of the room that the two girls went into. "But, I think it's just a little… _off, _that Tiara was so willing to step in to play my sister in the show."

"Well," Troy begins thoughtfully, "I_ did _notice that the way Tiara was acting was sort of…_ iffy_. I don't wanna jump to any conclusions, but if you're getting bad vibes from her, then I believe you, Ry."

"Thank you, Troy," Ryan murmurs. His eyes brim with an intense longing that feels as though it's taken on a physical form and struck Troy's heart directly, making it ache. "I can always count on you."

"Yeah. Yeah, you can," Troy promises softly. He hesitates for a second or so, and nearly falters, but pulls Ryan into him, touching his nose to the petite boy's temple.

Ryan shifts in closer, and Troy can hear both Ryan's heart and his own, hammering in their chests. Ryan's breath is on his cheek, the hair on Troy's arms and legs is standing up from the shivers of desire traversing his entire body, and the impulse to capture Ryan's mouth with his own is all but overpowering.

But, he doesn't want to hold Ryan back from achieving his dreams.

And, he doesn't want to watch someone else that he cares about leave him behind.

So, he makes himself leave Ryan's side. Letting go is every bit as torturous as it was that day in English class. "Ry, I'm going to take a shower, okay?" Troy says. He'll be able to think clearly in there, and get a grip on where things are going… and where he wants to take this.

"Alright." Ryan licks at his upper lip and nods, sounding just a little dismayed. Troy's heart gives a wistful pang in response. Straightening his back, Ryan declares, "I'll make sure my sister doesn't try to jump your bones, or anything."

"You're the best," Troy voices sincerely. Despite his inclination to press a kiss to Ryan's cheek, or his lips, he settles for giving Ryan's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and then unzips his bag to pull out his pajamas.

8-8-8-8-8

Ryan takes up a station outside the closed bathroom door. By all appearances, Sharpay is still rehearsing with Tiara, but the boys decide to be safe, rather than sorry.

As Troy slips out of his jeans and boxers and begins tugging his shirt over his head, he inquires, "So, what book are you reading, Ry?"

"_Where the Sidewalk Ends_," Ryan replies.

Troy pauses at the familiar title. "By Shel Silverstein?"

"Yes!" Ryan affirms happily.

Troy pulls his socks off and smiles. "That's a great book. I used to read it all the time, when I was a kid."

"Yeah, me too." The smile is audible in Ryan's voice.

"Do you…" Troy trails off, feeling slight embarrassment at his request, but he presses on. "Do you wanna read me one of the poems?"

"Sure," Ryan answers, unquestioning, perfectly willing to do what Troy asks.

Troy feels the sensation commonly known as "butterflies in the stomach", and his heart beats faster. As he figures out how to work the faucet and shower head, Ryan begins to read.

"'Sandra's seen a leprechaun/Eddie touched a troll/Laurie danced with some witches once/Charlie found some goblins' gold/Donald heard a mermaid sing/Susy spied an elf/But all the magic I have known/I've had to make myself'."

While he allows the spray of hot water to wet his hair, and begins lathering some ocean-scented Suave body wash onto his pectorals,_"Make myself"_, echoes in Troy's mind. "Could you read another one?" He asks.

Ryan complies. His voice lilts soothingly as he reads, "A tree house, a free house/A secret you and me house/A high up in the leafy branches/Cozy as can be house/A street house, a neat house/Be sure and wipe your feet house/Is not my kind of house at all-/Let's go live in a tree house'."

The light timbres of Ryan's voice lull Troy into a place where his thoughts flow freely. He rubs the body wash along his back, shoulders, and biceps, and contemplates everything. His feelings for Ryan, his desire to leap out of the shower, burst into the hallway, and sweep the blond boy into his arms where he would kiss him with everything he's got, and squeeze Ryan's dangerous tail. And, how thinking about doing that inspires a twinge of need in his cock. He wants to hold Ryan, confide in him, say and do things that cause Ryan to break into that megawatt smile, cuddle with him… just freaking _be_ with him.

Once more, however, inkling suspicions that he isn't good enough for Ryan creep up on him and begin battering his brain. It's one more voice in his head, insisting that it knows what's best for him.

Popularity. Basketball. Obeying his friends and not defying the status quo. Winning the championship game. Giving Gabriella the summer that she wanted. Promising to sing with Sharpay for the sake of his job at the country club owned by her parents. Pursuing a scholarship opportunity extended to him by Mr. Evans. Forfeiting the scholarship opportunity to stay in his friends' high esteem. Going to U of A. Participating in theater. Gabriella. Letting Gabriella go, even if it hurts him. Staying with Gabriella, even if _she_ hurts him. What everyone else wants for him,_ from_ him, conflicts with what he wants. It feels like it's _always_ been that way, and that disparity vaults his mind into disarray. It transforms him into, reduces him to an emotionally broken shell of everything that he might ever want to be.

As long as he's "The Basketball Guy", "Hoopsman", "The Wildcat Superstar", "Captain", "East High's Primo Boy", and "Wildcat", people are happy with him. They adore and idolize him.

Just _Troy_ is never good enough. _Troy_ never meets anyone's standards. _Troy_ is…

_NO_! Troy's voice, the only voice that he needs to listen to, and the one voice that has been silenced, repressed for too long, overpowers the others, drowning out the dissonant symphony composed of his father, Chad, the guys on the basketball team, the Wildcats, Sharpay, and _Gabriella_. He rakes in a breath to stabilize himself as tears prick his eyes. Ryan is good to him. Ryan is sweet, wonderful, smart, _so attractive_, always has his best interests at heart, and values him as _just Troy_.

It's not criminal to want him.

_Troy_ deserves to have one truly, wholly good thing in his life, one that doesn't have any self-serving ulterior motives or destructive downsides, right?

_ I'm _going _to_ _figure things out_, Troy tells himself, his chest heaving with resolution and desperation._ I'll _make_ myself good enough for Ryan_._ Because, if Ryan feels even _half_ of what I feel for him, then why the hell_ shouldn't_ we be together?_

He steps under the shower head, rinsing his body off- the sensation reminds him of another Hilary Duff song, "Come Clean"- and then retrieves the shampoo and conditioner. As he squirts the shampoo, which smells kind of like a pina coloda, onto his palm, he resolves that, _Ryan has been there, every time, to catch me when I fell. So, I'm going to be _his _parachute. _

The lid to the shampoo closes on the first try with a satisfying snap.

8-8-8-8-8

Cool air streams in as the bathroom door opens, letting out the steam that filled the room and fogged the mirror. Peering in, Ryan asks, "Troy? Is everything okay?", and then promptly stops himself. His mouth hangs open, his eyes riveted on Troy as they pan down the former athlete's bare chest to the cottony towel hanging low on his waist.

Troy tries to come up with something sexy to say that's appropriate for the situation, such as, "Like what you see?", or, "I can _totally_ show you _everything._ Just say the magic word". However, he isn't exactly a frequent treader on the grounds of what constitutes as, "sexy", territory. He only got to what the guys on the team crudely referred to as "first base" with Gabriella. And, he doesn't want to weird Ryan out, either, or come off sounding like a total creep, or a moron. Also, he's basically naked. He's never been at his most confident in the nude, comments on his physique and rumors about him being some sort of "sex god", at East High, not withstanding. So, he substitutes a sexy one-liner for his trademark Troy Bolton smile, amplifying the charm, just a bit, and shoots Ryan an inviting look from beneath his eyelashes as he asks, his voice perhaps a bit huskier than he wanted it to be, "Hey, Ry… can I borrow your hair dryer?"

"Y-Yeah," Ryan replies, dazed. With visible effort, he tears his eyes away from Troy and turns back, heading toward his bedroom.

When Ryan hands the hair dryer over, his fingertips graze the back of Troy's hand, inciting shivers. Troy almost believes that he was imagining the touch, until Ryan casts an unmistakably flirty look Troy's way and puts an extra sway to his hips as he exits the room. "I'm just going to go change into something more… um, _comfortable_, and I'll leave you to that."

"Alright." Troy ignores Ryan's very small verbal fumble, and smiles softly. He can feel heat pooling in his stomach, gradually trickling down… down. As Troy unwraps the towel and pulls his clean pair of boxers and East High sweat pants up his waist, he hears the slightly muffled sounds of Sharpay escorting Tiara to the front door.

"Just remember," he can make out Sharpay's voice saying, "if you're going to play me with any kind of accuracy, you need to have the walk down. Since we, unfortunately, can't surgically rearrange your bone structure to match mine, the walk will just have to do."

"Yes, Miss Evans," Tiara replies, chipper and dutiful.

"Good." Sharpay's inflection softens. "See you on Monday," she says almost… sweetly?

"Bright and early," Tiara confirms. Maybe, it's due to Ryan drawing his attention to it, or Tiara being kind of transparent, but Troy discerns that there is definitely a degree of falsity backing her enthusiasm. He then feels guilty for listening in and proceeds to tune the girls out.

Troy rakes his hands through his hair as he runs the hair dryer over it. When the heat from the dryer's highest setting feels like it's cooking his scalp, he pauses briefly to comb his hair out and make sure that his bangs are parted correctly. He takes in his reflection in the ornately framed, brightly lit mirror; tanned skin, blue eyes, long black lashes, defined cheek bones, full lips, just visible freckles dotting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Troy never comprehended what it was about his exterior that people found so attractive.

But, if _Ryan Evans_ is attracted to him, he must be at least halfway decent looking.

His train of thought takes a detour as he makes out Ryan's clear alto-tenor rising melodiously. The words Ryan is singing are rich, heartfelt. They take hold of Troy's heartstrings and give them a sharp tug, and Troy listens, hypnotized, captivated.

_I know I tend to get_

_ So insecure_

_ It doesn't matter_

_ Anymore_

_ It's not always rainbows_

_ And butterflies_

_ It's compromise_

_ It moves us along_

_ My heart is full_

_ And my door's always open_

_ You come any time_

_ You want_

Troy takes a step, fully prepared to leave the bathroom and go to Ryan's room, hoping for some ridiculously romantic thing to ensue. Until, his phone goes off.

The name that flashes on the caller id turns his blood to ice in his veins: _Gabriella._

"_Why_?!" Troy wants to cry out. "Why are you calling me, _now_?" After hanging up on him, breaking his heart, guilting him for not answering her call during a math test, moving away while he was at school so she wouldn't have to face him… After_ everything_…!

He's _done_. Gabriella is _so yesterday_. She's stuck in the past, wanting to stay in high school and mentally retrogress back to kindergarten. Troy, meanwhile, is ready for the future.

He leaves her call to go to voicemail.

As Troy enters Ryan's room, Ryan- who has changed into a light blue t-shirt and black and white checkered pajama pants, and still manages to look amazingly _hot_ in his dressed-down state- is still singing passionately, his voice full and strong, as if he's performing for an audience in his mind.

_Look for the boy with the broken smile_

_ Ask him if he wants to stay a while_

Troy, sure that Ryan would dazzle _any_ audience, makes his presence known, clearing his throat. Ryan quiets down and pulls out his earbuds. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hey," Troy murmurs. "Um…" He moves forward, and sits down on the bed, just a few inches away from Ryan. "Don't you think you deserve some love, too, Ry?" He whispers, hoping that the warmth in his voice and expression convey just how much he means it.

Ryan ducks his head, his cheeks flaring pink. "I-I… Well, uh…" he starts, then appears to lose his train of thought entirely because, clenching the bed sheets just to Ryan's right, Troy leans in. Ryan's eyelashes veil his sky-colored eyes. His breath tickles the skin on Troy's face, and a pleasant shivering breaks out over Troy's body. The sensation of butterflies fluttering about, batting their tiny wings, intensifies in Troy's stomach.

Tongue flicking over his upper lip to dampen it- he makes a brief mental note to invest in some chap stick- Troy closes his eyes and presses his lips to Ryan's.

He has only ever kissed Gabriella, so it's not as if he has a lot to compare this to. The first thing he observes is that Ryan's lips are soft, just like hers. The second thing he observes is that kissing Ryan _isn't _a chaste, awkwardly passionless experience. _Unlike_ kissing Gabriella. Ryan kisses back without any hesitation, gasping softly, and the sound is so _wonderful_, in fact, it's almost sort of musical, that Troy emits a low moan deep in his throat, in response. Troy's pulse races in his chest and his temples, and when Ryan's tongue slips into his mouth, he grunts, pleasure engulfing every nerve in his body.

Those skilled hands roam over Troy's chest, his back, stroke through his still slightly damp hair, caress his face, and it's not like kissing Gabriella, at all. It's almost… _better_. As Ryan trails kisses from the corner of Troy's mouth to his ear, and the teeth of his adorable overbite graze Troy's earlobe, everything feels so _amazing_, so much better than he could have anticipated, Troy doesn't want it to ever end.

Ryan_ is_ a great kisser.

He's a _phenomenal _kisser.

Troy presses his lips to the side of Ryan's neck, gasping softly, and Ryan breaks off. His fair face is flushed, his breath rate just a bit faster than normal.

"Wow," Troy manages breathlessly, unsure whether he's commenting on the kiss, on how _good _Ryan looks, or both.

"Wow," Ryan agrees.

Troy breaks into a smile first and Ryan amply reciprocates it. Until a knock at the door sends both of them nearly jolting right out of their skins.

"Ryan! I'm getting Chipotle for dinner. Are you and Wonderboy coming, or not?"

"Nice double entendre, Shar," Ryan says under his breath. Troy fails to bite back the laughter that bubbles up in his throat.

"What was that?" Sharpay demands, failing to mask her audible confusion.

"I said we'll be right out, Shar!" Ryan and Troy look to each other, and at Ryan's nod toward the bedroom door, they get to their feet simultaneously.

Sharpay's brown eyes pass over them suspiciously while the boys exit the room, as if she means to glean what they were doing by penetrating their minds with a stare. Troy doesn't care if his wide, uncontainable smile betrays him. He kissed _Ryan Evans_. He feels like a completely different person than he did at the start of the school year, or even as recently as last week, and it's an _extraordinary_ feeling.

8-8-8-8-8

Sharpay's golden blonde tresses blow freely through the chilly evening air. She speeds down the road, hesitating for what feels like an instant at the stop signs lining the street before carving a turn onto the highway.

"Does she always drive this fast?" Troy leans in to ask Ryan, who is seated beside him in the backseat of Sharpay's Barbie Doll pink convertible.

At first, Sharpay patted the passenger seat, and called Troy's name in a high-pitched, singsongy voice. Catching sight of the former athlete's terror-stricken reaction to this, Ryan quickly jumped into the backseat, turning down his sister's…. _offer_ with, "Sorry, Shar, but I already asked Troy to sit next to me."

"Oh, _did _you?" Sharpay prompted, her lips pursing and the look that she shot her brother seeming to pierce right through to his core.

"Yes he did, and I already agreed," Troy chipped in. Before Sharpay could get in another word in protest, Troy easily dropped down into the seat beside Ryan.

"I feel like I'm watching an episode of _The Secret Life of the American Golden Boy_," Sharpay quipped, her inflection sitting somewhere on the border of irritation and intrigue. She shifted the gear into drive and didn't say anything else on the subject, however.

"Thanks for the save," Troy relayed quietly to Ryan.

"Thank _you_," Ryan replied, gently squeezing the ends of Troy's fingers.

Troy wasn't sure why Ryan was thanking him, for a moment, then it just _clicked_. He's the only boy who has ever been willing to make it clear that he prefers Ryan to Sharpay. He's the only boy that has ever been attracted to _Ryan_ instead of Sharpay. That _loves _Ryan… and that Ryan loves, too.

Both boys have their seat belts fastened and tightly secured, and every so often, Ryan clutches at his hat, to ensure that it won't come flying off of his head. "You sort of get used to it," he murmurs in response.

_Sort of? _Troy echoes mentally. Again, he must have pulled a face, or something, because Ryan reaches out and places his hand on Troy's thigh comfortingly. Troy flashes him a grateful smile, his anxiety that they're going to wind up rear-ending another vehicle lessened significantly.

"So, how is the choreography coming along, Troy?" Sharpay pipes up.

"Great. We're, uh, really making progress." Troy smiles. It's not a lie, per se, but, truthfully, dancing in the show would be a whole hell of a lot easier if _Ryan_ was his partner, instead of the girl addressing him.

"Super."

Something in her voice causes Troy to look to Ryan, hoping for a dismissive gesture, or a reassuring smile to assuage his confusion, which is quickly becoming a close relative of anxiety. Ryan meets Troy's eyes and reflects his bewilderment back at him.

"I mean," Sharpay amends, her voice adopting that sugary-sweetness that makes Troy's skin prickle as she looks at the two boys through her dashboard mirror, "we all want it to be a _fair_ competition when the scouts from Juilliard see the show, don't we?"

Ryan arcs an eyebrow at his sister, as if trying to read her.

But, Sharpay continues, undeterred, "It's just such a _shame_ that there's only _one_ scholarship, and _four_ applicants from our drama department."

Sharpay, Ryan, Kelsi, Troy. There's an odd-man out, there; one who definitely doesn't deserve that scholarship, and isn't talented enough to get it. Troy looks to Ryan, who is, without a doubt, a shoo-in for the scholarship, and his heart begins to ache. He swallows, his urge to sweep Ryan into his arms and never let him go causing the gears in his head to begin turning rapidly. If he's going to be with Ryan,_ stay_ with him, he has to figure out some way to make sure that he can be right there in New York with him.

As Troy considers his options, he hardly hears Sharpay asking, "Troy, do you want a burrito or a bowl?"

8-8-8-8-8

They're sitting in Ryan's room. Sharpay started texting back and forth with Zeke and quickly abandoned the two boys, retreating into her own quarters. "About the Juilliard thing…" Troy begins, carefully picking up his chicken burrito to take a bite out of it. That task is not quite as easy as it sounds, given the wide circumference of the damn thing.

"Yeah?" Ryan asks, waiting until he's swallowed his mouthful from his vegetarian bowl to speak. As etiquette demands, Troy supposes.

"Do you…" Troy starts, questions his phrasing, then tries again, "You really want to get in, huh?"

Ryan's voice adopts a far-off, dreamy intonation as he replies, "It would be a tremendous opportunity, to attend one of the-if not _the _most prestigious performing arts university in this country. Just-Just think of all of the talent scouts and Broadway recruiters who must go to that school, surveying the ingenues and up and comers. And, I would be _right there_, in the heart of it all."

Troy smiles, picturing Ryan outshining fellow hopefuls and becoming the star that he deserves to be. But, the beautiful image of Ryan's skin glowing beneath a spotlight as he basks in the warmth of a standing ovation doesn't detract from the wistful ache at Troy's core.

And, it doesn't seem to do much for Ryan, either. A sadness fills his blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth drop into a frown.

"What is it?" Troy sets his burrito down and moves into Ryan, touching his backside comfortingly. "What did I say, Ry?"

Ryan shakes his head. "You didn't say anything. It's just…" He trails off and Troy can feel tremors wrack his body.

"You can tell me. It's okay," Troy murmurs, encouraging Ryan as Ryan has always encouraged him.

The encouragement works. "New York is on the other side of the country. Away from my family, away from everything I've ever known." Ryan's eyes meet Troy's, and the sorrow and yearning shining in the depths of those sky-colored pools hits Troywith enough force to knock the wind out of him.

"Going away from your family is always kind of scary," Troy says quietly, reflecting on his own anxieties about potentially having to leave his parents behind. "But, you'll adjust, because you're smart, strong, and determined. And, I know that you'll make _tons_ of new friends at Juilliard. Because who could possibly resist _you_?" He gives Ryan a light poke in the ribs, and the ache in his chest lessens when he sees the smile that he adores play on Ryan's lips.

The smile is short-lived, though. "What if… What if I'm not good enough, Troy? I know Juilliard is just one option, but- what if the scouts choose Sharpay, or Kelsi, or…?"

"You _are_ good enough," Troy contends. "That's not even debatable."

Ryan peers at Troy. His eyes teem with incredulity.

"I watched you perform dressed as a giant, sparkly _fish_, Ry," Troy presses with an encouraging grin as he gives the blond boy a gentle nudge.

Ryan laughs softly, blushing at the mention of his and his sister's… _interesting _Hawaiian-themed performance they had planned for the talent show at their family's country club. They "treated" Troy, in a manner of speaking, to a private preview of the act, that previous summer.

"I _know_ that you're amazing," Troy goes on, hoping that his sincerity and passion are conveyed through his words and his expression, "and I'm going to be sitting right there in the front row at each and every one of your shows. You'll have to break it to all of those screaming guys and girls that the title of Ryan Evans's Number One Fan has already been taken."

With a shake of his head, a misty-eyed Ryan lovingly brushes Troy's bangs out of his eyes. "A person would have to be _out of their mind_ to leave you."

Troy smiles a bit more bitterly than he means to, and looks away. "Chad said she was 'one step ahead'," he murmurs.

Gently, Ryan turns Troy's face back toward him. "Chad doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."

Troy searches Ryan's eyes. There's that "something else", that went hand in hand with all of the sympathy and understanding. He can now give that "something", that makes his chest feel heavy, but not in an unpleasant way, a name. As Ryan smiles to cement that name, happiness fizzes in Troy's chest.

Ryan drags his thumb down Troy's face caressingly. "I wish there was more than one scholarship, so it could be you and me who win them."

Troy feels his breath hitch. Him and Ryan. In New York. _Together_. "Me too," he agrees, quiet but emphatic.

Then, the huge burrito sitting on Troy's Chipotle wrapper catches Ryan's eye. "L-Let me get you a bowl for that."

"Please… Thank you…" Troy breathes.

Ryan doesn't move to get that bowl, however. And, Troy isn't moving, either. Their eyes meet, once more. Those entrancing sky blue pools set in Ryan's lovely face brim with that longing that Troy can't refuse, anymore. Simultaneously, both of them lean in and bring their mouths together. Troy wraps his arms around the smaller boy's waist, and lets himself drift away as his world becomes Ryan… Ryan's sweet scent of strawberries mingled with spring water… the warm taste of Ryan's mouth… _Ryan_.

Eventually, Ryan does get a bowl for Troy's burrito, and both boys heat their food back up. Due to it getting cold.

8-8-8-8-8

After dinner, they cover the vocabulary for their upcoming exam in AP English, reviewing the definitions of terms such as anaphora, caesura, euphony, metonymy and sibilance. Troy is exceedingly grateful for the assistance. Gabriella was never very willing to help him study- she wanted to talk about her problems, or get a ride to her best friend Taylor's, or go out to dinner, instead- but she certainly had no short supply of criticism to heap on if his grades weren't up to par.

Ryan closes his English folder and stretches. "I think that about covers it."

"I feel really confident about this vocabulary," Troy says, looking over the list of terms one more time before slipping the sheet of paper into his folder and stowing the folder in his book bag.

"Yeah?" Ryan asks.

"Yeah," Troy affirms with a smile. "Thanks, Ry."

Ryan ducks his head and smiles softly. "Hey. I couldn't just let my partner fail, could I?"

"Ryan, darling little brother, I'm going to sleep," Sharpay calls saccharinely from the other side of the door. "I hope that it won't be a problem for the two of you to keep things quiet."

Troy and Ryan catch each other's eye. Their wide-eyed, stunned expressions mirror each other.

Sharpay takes it upon herself to break the silence that then descends on the house. "Perfect. Toodles!" She chirps happily. The sound of her footsteps dwindles off as she heads back down the hall.

The boys wait until her door closes before speaking again.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" Ryan offers.

"Sure," Troy replies.

8-8-8-8-8

Fifteen or so minutes into Disney's _Aladdin_, while Jafar mesmerizes the Sultan into doing his bidding, Ryan looks to Troy. "In free period, a while back, Ms. D asked all of us about our plans for the future." He seems to consider his wording very carefully. "You were… kind of at a loss, huh?"

"I still am," Troy says in a small voice.

Ryan searches Troy's face, his eyes darkened with concern and his brows knitting. "Troy…"

"I just- I haven't got everything figured out, yet," Troy admits. Getting it all off of his chest and out there in the open is like taking in a breath of fresh air. But, the gravity of his circumstances doesn't escape him. "Chad's going to go pro with basketball and get into the NBA. Gabriella is majoring in Pre-Law at Stanford. Taylor wants to be the president. Zeke's going to college for culinary arts, Jason is planning on finding work, after high school." He pauses, then adds half as a joke and half because he's sincerely concerned for his somewhat ditzy friend's future, "You know, _if _he graduates." Scratching at the back of his neck in frustration as the feeling of being caught in a downward spiral, or hopelessly lost in a maze with no clear exit, swarms him, Troy goes on, "Martha's headed to a university to study music and dance. You, Sharpay, and Kelsi are all going to be famous. And… I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You know what? That's okay," Ryan murmurs soothingly.

It's "okay" to draw a blank on what his plans for his future are? The completely foreign notion causes Troy to gape for a moment, completely dumbstruck.

"You're young, _incredibly_ attractive-" Troy lets out a modest laugh at that, causing Ryan to smile as he resumes, "intelligent, and versatile." He scoots in and touches his head to Troy's shoulder. Troy smiles softly, at both the touch, and Ryan's sincere bolstering of his self-confidence. "Once you cross that stage at graduation, an entire _world_ of opportunities is gonna open up for you." Ryan gesticulates grandly as he speaks. His eyes glow with his certainty in what he's saying. "And, because you're _you_, Troy, when you're ready, you're going to seize whichever one of those opportunities is the best for you and take the world by storm, right?"

_The best for you. _Not what's best for Chad, his dad, the Wildcats, or Gabriella. What's best for _Troy_. And, when _he's ready_. Not when someone else demands it. Well… "Yes I am," Troy answers promptly, _confidently_, for the first time in a long time. A grin tugs at his lips. "But…" He leans down, brushing his forehead against Ryan's. He hesitates for a second or so, not wanting to be a burden to his dearest friend, then does what his heart requires of him and forges ahead. "I wouldn't mind tagging along with you for awhile." After a very slight pause, he adds, somewhat bashfully, "If that's all right."

"It's more than 'all right'," Ryan says, his voice shaky with the intensity of the happiness that floods his features.

When the movie's eponymous hero, Aladdin, and the princess, Jasmine, share scenes together, Troy and Ryan cuddle close to each other. Troy can't recall the last time he felt so content and panic-free.

_A whole new world, _

_ A dazzling place I never knew_

_ But, when I'm way up here_

_ It's crystal clear_

_ That now I'm in _

_ A whole new world with you_, he can't help but sing softly as he looks at the misty-eyes and loving face of the person responsible for showing him this "whole new world".

8-8-8-8-8

_He's racing down the court, dribbling the ball as he goes. His eyes scan left and right, searching for an opening. _

_ Around him, the buzzing of the crowd crescendoes, and the word that they're all chanting over and over becomes audible: "Bolton! Bolton! Bolton!"_

_ The sound washes over Troy, sending adrenaline coursing through his veins and ringing with a dizzying sort of glee in his ears. He has to do this. He _has _to make this basket. Give the people what they want. He takes up the dunking stance- arms raised, feet planted…. and then a weight crashes into him. Troy hits the ground _hard_, the impact knocking the wind right out of him. Wheezing, he scrambles upright and makes to retrieve the ball. But, he can only watch, dumbfounded, as the orange and black striped sphere rolls out of his reach and into a half of the gymnasium that is shrouded in darkness._

_ "What?" Troy blinks, perplexed. _

_ Suddenly, the crowd's favor shifts. At once, they get to their feet, their previously supportive, hopeful expressions contorted into ugly, mocking scowls and looks of soul-crushing disappointment. "Boo!" They holler, stomping their feet against the bleachers. "Boo!" _

_ This sound also resonates. This time, however, it rings in Troy's ears with a sickening feeling of shame and apprehension. "Get up," Troy pleads with himself. "Come on, _get up_!" It's useless. His legs, which are clad in blue jeans instead of his red uniform shorts, are rubbery and refuse to cooperate._

_ "Need some help there, man?" A tenor-baritone pitch asks. There's a sneer laced in those words, but it's the voice, itself, that strikes a nerve deep in Troy's chest. _

_ His heart and breath rates picking up, Troy watches a figure emerge from the darkened half of the gym. He takes in tanned legs that undeniably belong to a male, red basketball shorts, and an unmistakable Wildcats jersey. When he discerns the number emblazoned on the jersey, his stomach drops._

Fourteen._ Troy's own number. Printed crystal clear in a nearly blindingly bright white across the other boy's chest. _

_ "Huh? How can that…?" Troy gasps, bewildered. _

_ The other boy steps fully into Troy's view, revealing that he also has shaggy, side-swept brunette hair, defined cheek bones, and blue eyes framed by long black eyelashes… It registers that his face is the exact same face that greets Troy in the mirror everyday. _

_ But, that's not possible, _right_? _

_ Wordlessly, a confident smirk on his lips, the Other Troy strides across the gym and fires a three point shot, as if it's the simplest task in the world. _

_ The gymnasium shakes as the crowd roars with pride. Buzzers go off, announcing the Other Troy's victory. People swarm to him. Troy sees his father clapping the Other Troy on the back. "That's my boy!" He proclaims, beaming._

_ "No, dad. Th-That's not…!" Troy tries, his chest tightening. "_I'm_-"_

_ "I knew you wouldn't let us down, Captain," Chad says. He playfully jostles the Other Troy. _

_ "Congrats, Wildcat!" Gabriella arches up on her toes to peck the Other Troy on the cheek. _

_ Troy feels his heart begin sinking. "Guys, that's _not_ Troy! _I'm_ Troy!"_

_ Kelsi, Martha, Zeke, and Jason join in the celebration, all of them cheering. Cheering for the Other Troy. Even Jimmie is there, gushing excitedly over his idol's victory. _

_ Regaining some use of his limbs, Troy staggers to his feet- just in time to see the one person that he absolutely didn't want to see move in to the Other Troy's circle. _

_ "_Ryan_!" Troy cries out. _

_ His voice goes unheard. Ryan doesn't even throw a glance his way. _

_ "Hey there, handsome," Ryan greets the Other Troy with a flirtatious smirk and wiggle of his hips. _

_ Troy races forward, to intercept him, to catch him, but he's moving far too slowly. He can't catch up. He can't make it. He watches helplessly, heart shattering to pieces, as the Other Troy sweeps Ryan into his arms. He presses his sculpted chest to Ryan's and kisses the smaller boy deeply, plunging his tongue into his mouth._

_ Troy's stomach drops right out of him. He feels hollow. Empty. If even _Ryan _has forgotten about him…_

_ The ground lurches beneath Troy's feet, and he's suddenly falling. He doesn't flail desperately, though. No. Instead, he succumbs to his fate. More than half of him expresses a silent hope that the impact with the ground waiting however many miles below will _kill _him. That his ribs will be smashed and broken, his organs impaled, and the life will be crushed right out of his fragile, fleshy shell._

No one will miss me, anyway_, he reflects despondently. _I'm **worthless. **Replaceable.

_ He lands on a darkened stage- still alive and intact. _

_ Unfortunately. _

_ Gaining his bearings, Troy looks around. He's alone. Alone, because he's not good enough for anyone. And, that's how he's going to stay forever. _

_ All of a sudden, a spotlight flicks on overhead. Troy squints into the intense white glow. The Other Troy steps forward from upstage, emerging out of the flare. His blue eyes cold, calculating, he grins. "Alone again, huh? Guess we really_ aren't_, 'all in this together', are we?"_

_ Troy doesn't answer. He can't find the words to begin to. The number fourteen proudly emblazoned on the Other Troy's jersey derides him. _He's_ East High's superstar. The object of everyone's adoration. _

_ And, Troy is just… _Troy.

_ Reaching out, the Other Troy seizes the ends of Troy's black t-shirt and rips it off of him, the fabric tearing loudly. "You know, no one likes an awkward virgin, _Wildcat_," he tells him harshly. "That's why you can't hold down a relationship."_

_ "Stop!" Troy cries out. His will to fight has returned, but he can't even move his arms over his torso to cover his now bare chest. He's been rendered utterly immobile. _

_ "No one likes a selfish pussy, or a coward, _Captain_!" The Other Troy snarls, his eyes flashing brown, gray, and then a penetrating clear blue. He grabs hold of Troy's pants. "That's what all of your friends call you behind your back," he says easily, no traces of dishonesty anywhere in his voice. With each word, he pulls Troy's jeans lower, lower. "They're calling you selfish. A wimp. A _coward_." _

_ Troy trembles and terror clutches his chest. "_Knock it off_!" He yells, his voice wracked with tremors. But, doubt pervades, swallowing his denial. Could the Other Troy be _right_? His friends _do _seem to get angry and disappointed with him far too frequently, after all. Still, does he really deserve to endure _this_?"Please…!" He all but begs. _

_ The Other Troy leans in. For a brief moment, his eyes betray something like sympathy. He appears almost apologetic, and Troy's heart misses a beat. Then, the Other Troy rips Troy's jeans completely off, leaving him standing there in his boxers. Vulnerable. Laid bare. The Other Troy closes the remaining distance between them, his lips brushing against Troy's ear. Troy shivers at the contact. He can feel the Other Troy's hands resting on the waistband of his boxers. The unspoken promise to remove _them_ next, leaving him entirely exposed, weighs heavily on the air. _

_ "I'm sorry, Troy. But, nobody loves a _loser_." _

_ Troy feels cool air hit the area above his groin as the Other Troy dips his fingers in and down, past the elastic. He's unable to stop himself from whimpering with apprehension. Like the pussy and coward that he is. _

_ Suddenly, something sharp pierces his spine, right between his shoulder blades. Troy can only gasp as a powerful, stabbing pain engulfs his body. Then, _nothing_. He can't feel anything below his chest, which is aching sharply with panic. Fingernails, or maybe they're knives, dig into the flesh on his neck, and with one powerful movement, the skin is sliced right open. A salty, tangy scent overpowers Troy's nostrils, and the taste of his own blood fills his mouth. _

_ The Other Troy holds Troy upright almost tenderly. "Ohh, Troy. You fucked up, again. Just like you always do," he murmurs sadly, pityingly, shaking his head before withdrawing. _

_ Troy watches the Other Troy's retreat until his vision swims, blurs, and the world turns red. _

_ "Troy!" A voice calls from somewhere in the distance. _

_ Troy tries to reply, but his voice is_ gone. Just like… _His body buckles, his legs crumpling under his weight, and he topples forward. _

"_Troy!" The same voice, which Troy vaguely recognizes, calls again. It quavers with a note of panic. _

I'm sorry_, Troy thinks with what remains of his cognitive abilities. _But, I'm…

"Troy!"

The intensity of the anguish in the voice brings Troy jolting back into consciousness. His eyes stretching wide, he lets out a gasp. He struggles to get his vision to adjust to the darkness of the room so he can ascertain where he is.

"Troy? Are you all right?" The voice, a soft alto-tenor laden with concern, is _Ryan's_. _Ryan's_ hands grope for and manage to locate Troy's face. "What's wrong?"

"Ryan?!" Troy exclaims. His heart is racing, he's still slightly disoriented, and he can't quite believe that the blond is actually _there_. He forces himself up and reaches for Ryan. He needs to touch him. To feel him. To be provided with some affirmation that he isn't paralyzed and bleeding out due to a nasty gash in his throat, and that everyone that matters to him doesn't hate his guts, and hasn't completely abandoned him.

"I'm right here," Ryan says soothingly. His voice, alone, has an immediate calming effect on Troy. He moves in, his arms winding around Troy as he draws the brunette's sturdy frame into him. "It's okay. You're okay."

Surfacing fully from his dream, Troy hugs Ryan back tightly. He takes in the sensation of Ryan's soft cheek pressed against his cheek, Ryan's skinny chest against his.

"It was just a bad dream," Ryan consoles him.

"Yeah. A bad dream," Troy repeats, allowing that information to sink in. He's in Ryan's arms. He's_ safe_. Troy's heart, which seemed to be hammering against his breastbone, is pacified. The painful speed of his pulse subsides. "I'm sorry I woke you up, Ryan," he whispers.

"It's all right," Ryan replies. Not even a trace of annoyance is present in his inflection. "Do you… do you wanna talk about it?"

The image of another Troy's tongue shoved down an all-too-willing Ryan's throat flashes into Troy's mind. He has to forcibly push away the stomach-churning memory. "No," he answers firmly, swallowing. "A-At least not right now."

"Alright," Ryan replies leniently. He's unwilling to pressure Troy. Just like always. His lips brush against Troy's cheek and jaw bone in a feather light kiss, and he suggests, "Let's go back to sleep, okay?"

Troy nods. He reclines, taking Ryan with him, and settles back into the soft, downy pillows. Already, his eyelids feel heavy, again. "Thanks, Ry," he breathes.

This time, Ryan doesn't question what he did that is deserving of Troy's gratitude, he already_ knows_, and warmth surges into Troy's heart as Ryan says, "Anytime."

The sensation of Ryan's breath coming out in gentle puffs that tickle his neck is tranquilizing. "Comfortable?" Troy asks the petite blond.

"Yes. _Very_," Ryan replies, and Troy can feel the smile to accompany that response against the hollow of his throat.

"Good," he says with a smile of his own. Before sleep fully clouds his mind and sends him back off to dreamland, Troy reflects that, for the very first time, he has a warm body in the bed with him. And, that warm body belongs to the person who was always there beside him.

8-8-8-8-8

Troy awakens to find Ryan's room illuminated by rays of sunlight streaming in through a gap in the white chiffon curtains. He stretches and makes a note of the fact that his limbs haven't been stiffened by sleep, like they usually are. As he pulls the covers aside to step out of bed, he thinks of Ryan- neat, organized- and neatly spreads them back out, taking care to smooth any wrinkles. Pausing briefly to check the state of his hair in the mirror and to fix it so that it's not sticking up in a humiliatingly haphazard manner, he takes his first cautious steps out of Ryan's room and peers around the corner.

The sound of voices that he quickly identifies as Sharpay and Ryan's, involved in a mild conversation, leads him to the kitchen.

"How were rehearsals, yesterday? Tiara getting your part down okay?" Ryan prompts, his light alto-tenor tinged with curiosity.

"It's the weirdest thing. She's surprisingly_ good_ for a London school girl with no notable acting experience," Sharpay remarks.

"Oh?" Troy arrives at the doorway in time to see Ryan's brows give an inquisitive quirk as he bites into his Special K cereal bar.

Sharpay shrugs and sips from what appears to be a protein shake in a pink plastic cup. "Being in the presence of someone as gifted as me must be a positive influence on her."

Ryan smiles indulgently. "That could be it."

"What about you? Is Troy ready for rehearsals on Monday?"

Troy flinches a bit at the sound of his name. He's not certain that he should be hearing this conversation. Before he can begin retreating, however, he hears:

"Troy is _good_, Sis._ Better_ than good, even." Ryan's voice is warm, light. He clearly means what he says, and Troy's heart flutters.

"Are you sure?" Sharpay's mouth becomes a judgmental line. "Opening night is in_ two weeks_, Ryan. I don't want our last show at East High to be a disaster because our beloved Primo Boy can't handle one simple maneuver that you and me could have pulled off when we were in the first grade."

Troy's stomach clenches with shame, and his chest swells with indignation at the same time. He's no pro at dancing, not by a long shot, but he's not _that _bad.

Right?

Or, maybe he is. He needed Gabriella to teach him how to waltz, and everyone in the cast gave him those looks of evaluation, decreeing that he was just a good-for-nothing, useless-

"He has the material _down_, Shar." A hint of defensiveness creeps into Ryan's inflection and Troy's self-deprecating thoughts dwindle off into non-existence. "Troy and I _both_ know what we're doing. The spring musical will go on without a hitch, okay?"

"Okay." Looking somewhat taken aback, Sharpay lowers her eyes to her drink. "No need to get all bitchy on me."

At that moment, both siblings take notice of their guest.

"Good morning!" Ryan greets Troy cheerfully.

"Morning." A mildly dumbstruck Troy smiles at the blond boy and rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. Once again, he has a guilt-ridden conscience for listening in when he wasn't supposed to. But, there's a positive feeling accompanying it- a warmth in his heart that has taken form because Ryan Evans _believes in him_.

"Are you hungry? I'll make you an omelet," Ryan offers.

"Sure." Troy nods. "That'd be great."

"Aren't you two all nice and domestic," Sharpay quips, smirking slightly.

The boys glance in her direction for a second before Ryan looks back to Troy. "Um, how would you like it?" He inquires, making his way over to the cupboards to retrieve a skillet.

Not wanting to be useless and leave all of the labor to Ryan, Troy rushes over to the refrigerator. It's a sleek silver model that looks rather high-tech and state of the art, especially compared to the refrigerator with a wooden exterior that he has at home. His reflection is so clear on the shiny metallic doors, it's like looking into a mirror. He opens the refrigerator door and quickly locates the carton of eggs.

"Light and fluffy?" Ryan elaborates in his adorably awkward way. "Do you want any kind of specific seasoning, or…?"

Troy closes the door behind him and catches up with Ryan at the stove. They set the skillet and the egg carton down at the same time. Catching Ryan's eye, Troy leans into him and says honestly, hoping that he'll get the reaction he wants, "I trust the chef's personal preference."

A bashful smile tugs at Ryan's lips. Just like Troy wanted. "Alrighty, then."

Sharpay makes a noise that sits somewhere in the middle of being disgruntled with, and accepting of, this recent development.

Troy lets himself hope rather ardently that it's the latter. He could never forgive himself if he created a lasting rift between the Evans twins.

Ryan squirts vegetable oil into the skillet and cracks an egg. Troy watches, stomach growling softly, as the yolk and egg white fall into the pan and begin sizzling.

8-8-8-8-8

A film of sweat forms on Troy's skin. The white-t-shirt he's wearing under his button-down sweater sticks to his chest. He makes the decision to remove his sweater, an impediment to his chances of victory, slipping out of the garment and tossing it aside. Licking at his upper lip, Troy's eyes move from where they were fixated intently on the television to screen to Ryan, beside him.

Ryan re-adjusts his hat, unfastens the first two buttons on the collar of his dress shirt, and stretches his neck first to the right, and then the left. He fixes Troy in a heated stare. "You ready for round two?"

"Bring it," Troy answers firmly, his insides jittery with excitement.

Ryan cues up Taio Cruz's "Dynamite", on _Just Dance 3_ . Their eyes on the widescreen LCD television set, the boys try to match their movements to those of the avatars on the screen. Ryan's motions are swift, graceful. They possess an elegance from years of refinement that Troy isn't sure he could ever obtain. Despite Ryan's obvious expertise, however, Troy's agility that he gained from tireless years on the basketball court allows him to hold his own. Much to his astonishment, he and Ryan are actually kind of evenly matched. Ryan meets Troy's eyes, and they trade grins with each other.

There's no pressure on Troy to meet someone else's demands or expectations. He and Ryan laugh easily, at themselves and at each other, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. For the first time since the early stages of his relationship with Gabriella, Troy Bolton feels like just another regular guy.

A regular guy who just might be Ryan Evans's boyfriend…?

Near the end of the bridge of the song, after a relatively intense face to face dance-off, Troy hears his phone going off. Ryan quickly pauses the game. "Go ahead," he says, nodding in the direction of the ring tone.

With a grateful half-smile, Troy steps away from the TV and picks up his phone. He flips the device open. "Hello?"

"Man, where are you?" Chad Danforth's voice greets him. "You've been completely M.I.A. for the last week."

"I'm sorry. I've just… " Troy stoops to pick up his sweater. All of the sudden feeling rather naked without it, he tugs it on as he resumes, "I've had a lot going on."

Curiosity pulls at Ryan's brows. "Who is it?" He mouths.

"Chad," Troy replies silently. He shrugs the sweater back into place over his torso.

"You know, I heard you were hiding out in the den of the show dogs," Chad continues.

"I'm not exactly 'hiding out'," Troy responds. Something about Chad's tone, and his referring to Ryan and Sharpay as "show dogs", causes discomfort to settle in the pit of Troy's stomach. "Ryan's a great guy. We're hanging out, and I-I'm really enjoying his company."

"Yeah, well, it sounds like you're enjoying it a little _too_ much," Chad quips patronizingly.

_Here we go_, Troy reflects, throwing his head back in dismay.

"Look, you can't go getting yourself attached to Evans, right now, because, you and me? We've got _plans_.Remember? _We _have plans that are _bigger_ than a guy who wears pink pants and sparkling hats."

Troy can feel Ryan's eyes on him, watching him intently. He wonders how much of Chad's end of the conversation is audible to the blond boy. Inhaling to steel himself, Troy tells his best friend, "_You_ have plans, Chad. _You_ have a locker waiting for you at U of A. My future's headed in a different direction."

"What?" Chad exclaims, startled.

Troy refuses to let himself be rattled. He has to say what he needs to say. Do as Ms. Darbus instructed him; _Tap into that reserve of passion and courage._

Regaining his poise, Chad goes on, adopting a reprimanding intonation, "Hold on. Let me get this straight. You spend a day, or so, with Evans, and suddenly you're doing a complete one-eighty on me?

"This isn't suddenly coming out of nowhere," Troy begins. His voice is low, but not shaky, or uncertain.

Chad is quiet, as if he's contemplating Troy's words... or how to react to them.

Ryan's presence in the room is comforting, and Troy allows himself to draw resolve from it. He speaks directly from his heart. "I'm sick and tired of everyone thinking that they can control my life for me. It's _my_ life, Chad. _I'm _the one who has to live it. I should be able to make my own choices, and decide where I want to go for myself. Ryan, he… he _gets_ that, in a way that no one else ever has." By the time he's finished, Troy's voice seems to ring in his ears. Chad's end of the line is still silent. Troy can feel his knees trembling and his pulse is racing, but he takes in the proud smile on Ryan's face, the unmistakable love shining in Ryan's eyes, and everything is okay, again.

"So… what?" Chad finally speaks up. "Are you going to just up and move to New York?" The wistful hint to his voice causes Troy to hesitate very briefly.

"I don't know, man. Maybe I will. That's definitely a possibility." Troy shifts his weight and slides his left hand into his pocket. "Ryan and I will come back to visit during the holidays," he goes on, hoping to lessen the tension he's created. When Chad's lack of a response begins to eat at him, he adds, "Taylor's going to Yale, right?"

"Yeah," Chad mutters.

"I'll say 'hi' to her for you, okay?"

Chad lets out a quiet, short laugh and Troy smiles, feeling a pang of relief right in the center of his chest. He knows what that laugh signifies- that things are okay between them. "Just try not to let exposure to the snobs up there turn you into some uppity, 'too-good-for-us-backwater-small-town-folks', big city asshole."

"Will do," Troy promises amiably. Their conversation comes to an end, and he slips his phone back into his pocket.

"How did he take it?" Ryan prompts.

Not moving a muscle to connote a response either way, Troy feigns nonchalance.

Ryan skeptically arcs one of his neatly groomed brows. He can see right through the charade, of course. But, he still lets out a surprised giggle when Troy sweeps him up into his arms and twirls him around ebulliently, unabashedly beaming all the while.

8-8-8-8-8

Having Ryan Evans riding shotgun in his truck is something that Troy muses that he will never quite be used to. There's a certain luster that Ryan possesses that just doesn't quite belong in the interior of a dingy old thing like the rundown pickup that Troy inherited from his dad. Ryan has ridden in Troy's truck, before; once or twice during the school year, when they needed to do research together for an assignment in English, and to a handful of functions for the basketball team.

The blond theater king never considered himself to be part of the team in any official sense, with him merely being the mascot. But, as the captain, Troy made a point to ensure that _everyone_, from Ryan, to Jimmie Zara's best friend, Donny Deon, the team water boy, was included in all team get togethers.

Troy had his own experience with being left out and estranged from the rest of his teammates. As the first sophomore in the school's history to make starting varsity, who also happened to be the coach's son, he wasn't exactly greeted with open arms by the senior members of the team. It didn't help matters, either, that his scrawny physique made him the target of mockery and harassment in the locker room. Plenty of insults, such as "daddy's boy", and a certain "F" word, were lobbed at him, at practice, along with precision strikes with basketballs that often resulted in bruises, or a stream of blood gushing from his nose.

He just didn't measure up. He was sloppy. Unworthy. So, he forced himself to look the part of the first sophomore to make starting varsity. He pushed himself to be worthy of the eventual title of team captain.

His biceps and taut abdominal muscles didn't just miraculously spring up overnight, after all.

Kelsi being disregarded and intimidated by Sharpay, Ryan receiving threats from Chad and getting pushed around by Sharpay, and the rest of Troy's teammates subjecting Ryan and Jimmie to the same dismissive treatment that he was on the receiving end of as a scrawny, wide-eyed sophomore, was something that Troy _refused_ to tolerate. Bullying, in general, was something that he couldn't stand. Perhaps that was why he extended his friendship to Kelsi, why Ryan earned his intense respect and admiration, and why he was willing to entrust Jimmie with making the winning basket in his final game at East High.

Everyone deserves a chance. Troy has always operated under that philosophy. He's even more than willing to offer second chances, like acting civilly to Sharpay, despite the less than acceptable way that she treated his friends over summer vacation.

But,_ fourth_ chances?

Troy told Ryan about Gabriella's phone call, the other night. He didn't want this relationship to be founded on withheld information and secrecy. He talked about how it was the call that Gabriella made after both breaking up with him and outright refusing to answer his desperate attempts to patch things up with her.

Ryan was visibly irritated at the news that Gabriella had attempted to contact Troy, and fumed, "The _nerve _of that little…! She's playing mind games with you!"

Troy informed Ryan that_ he _was the one ignoring _her_, for once. "Well, she's already lost," he declared. "Because I threw in the towel the moment you were there for me and she wasn't, anymore."

Ryan had planted a kiss on Troy's lips and, placing a tender hand on his cheek, relayed softly, seriously, "You know, it takes a brilliant mind to realize when a game is no longer worth playing."

"So, I'm 'brilliant', huh?" Troy asked playfully, a light, modest flush creeping into his cheeks. No one had ever praised his intellect, before. Aside from Ryan, of course.

"Like the sun," Ryan replied, his nose crinkling with delight as he touched the end of it to Troy's.

As Troy steers his ramshackle pickup aimlessly, the dissonantly upbeat chords of a piano intro to a pop song pour out of the vehicle's stereo, ejecting him from the memory and into the present. Ryan suddenly sits at attention beside him, his eyes lighting up. "I love this song!"

It's "Scar", by Missy Higgins, a song that Troy has heard on the radio at least a couple of times. Admittedly, he's kind of partial to it, as well. He smiles, taking his eyes off the road only long enough to get a glimpse of the irresistible smile on his boyfriend's face.

Yeah.

Ryan is his _boyfriend_.

Ryan begins to sing along, just like he did that Friday in their private rehearsals, where the auditorium was reserved just for them. His voice is light, brimming with all of the ardor of a natural performer and a person who feels the emotional resonance of the words fueling the song in the very depths of their being. And, like before, the lyrics and the passion imbued in Ryan's singing strike a cord within Troy.

_He left a card, a bar of soap,_

_ And a scrubbing brush next to a note_

_ That said, "Use these _

_ Down to your bones."_

_ And, before I knew it_

_ I had shiny skin,_

_ And I felt easy being clean like him_

_ I thought, 'This one knows better than I do.'_

_ A triangle tryin' to squeeze through a circle_

_ He tried to cut me so I'd fit_

Looking to Troy, Ryan catches his eye and coaxes him, inspires him to join in. Troy does so with minimal hesitation. Singing this song with Ryan simply feels_ right_. He finds himself experiencing that unburdening feeling that so naturally accompanies his interactions with the blond boy, and catches himself treasuring the way his and Ryan's voices seamlessly intertwine.

_ And, doesn't that sound familiar?_

_ Doesn't that hit too close to home?_

_ Doesn't that make you shiver,_

_ The way things could have gone?_

_ And, doesn't it feel peculiar, _

_ When everyone wants a little more?_

_ So that I do remember to never go that far,_

_ Could you leave me with a scar?_

Troy reads the name of the oncoming ramp and turns onto it, heading past the outskirts of Albuquerque and toward the desert regions of New Mexico. As much as he tries to ward them off, the second verse inevitably evokes images of Gabriella. How she lured Troy into a false sense of security with her liquid brown eyes, innocent smiles, virtuous demeanor, and her sugary-sweet girlish voice. How she always insisted that she knew what was best for the both of them, and that Troy's thoughts and feelings were of little to no importance. How, due to her intellect and how much she meant to him, she was able to persuade Troy that such was the truth. That _he _was always at fault and _she _was the victim in any situation.

And, how, by doing so, she ultimately eroded Troy's sense of self.

If the expression that Ryan currently wears is anything to go by, the lyrics have also conjured up memories of someone who similarly affected him. Troy's heart wrenches painfully at the very thought of someone hurting Ryan- _Ryan_ who has been his savior throughout all of this.

_So, the next one came with a bag of treats_

_ She smelled like sugar _

_ and spoke like the sea_

_ And she told me, "Don't trust them, trust me."_

_ Then she pulled at my stitches_

_ One by one,_

_ Looked at my insides, clicking her tongue_

_ And said, "This will all have to come undone"._

_ A triangle tryin' to squeeze through a circle_

_ She tried to blunt me so I'd fit_

Troy's throat constricts on "blunt me", causing his voice to tremble and crack audibly. He can't help it. As badly as he longs to put Gabriella behind him, she cut him _deep_. Tears prick at his eyes, as well, and that's also entirely involuntary. As he takes a hand off of the steering wheel to wipe at his eyes, he feels Ryan's hand on his thigh. The brush of Ryan's fingers, alone, lessens Troy's heartache. Ryan gives his thigh a comforting squeeze, and Troy's tears dry up completely.

Contrition, bitterness, and displeasure are detectable in Ryan's voice as the pair resumes with the chorus. Troy knows exactly what and _who_ to blame for the souring of the blond's mood.

And, for once, it's not _him _who is at fault.

_ And, doesn't that sound familiar?_

_ Doesn't that hit too close to home?_

_ Doesn't that make you shiver,_

_ The way things could have gone?_

_ And, doesn't it feel peculiar_

_ When everyone wants a little more?_

_ So that I do remember to never go that far,_

_ Could you leave me with a scar?_

8-8-8-8-8

"She broke up with you?" Kelsi inquires, her blue-green eyes wide with incredulity behind the lenses of her glasses.

"Yeah," Troy murmurs his affirmation, his eyes falling to the legs of his jeans. All three of them, Troy, Ryan, and Kelsi, are seated on the girl's bed in her aqua-colored room. Various music notes and clefs decorate the walls, and stack upon stack of sheet music litters the floor and covers the desk near the far wall.

"Troy, I… I'm so sorry." The petite brunette girl reaches out to lay a hand on Troy's shoulder at the same time that Ryan begins soothingly rubbing at the former athlete's back. "I had no idea. I just… I thought…" Seemingly unable to find the right words to communicate how she feels, Kelsi clams up.

"It's all right, Kels," Troy assures her softly, his gaze flicking to her. "I guess Gabriella and I just weren't as "meant to be", as we believed we were." He catches Ryan's eye and sees a mixture of sympathy, and something that he can't quite place a name on, flash in the depths of those sky-colored orbs.

A bit of the color leaves Kelsi's face. "It looks like Sharpay got exactly what she wanted," she mutters wistfully. Looking downcast, she sets her folder of sheet music for the school musical aside.

Now that Troy thinks about it, Sharpay _did _seem eager to get Gabriella out of the way when she informed him that Gabriella had been accepted into Stanford's Freshman Honors program, purposefully tacking on,_ "Since the only thing possibly holding her back would be…_ you_." _It's almost like she was trying to guilt him into encouraging Gabriella to leave East High. Troy swallows and tries to block out the way his stomach churns and his heart gives a painful lurch at the memory.

"Well… not quite," Ryan says. He takes Troy's hand and gently squeezes the ends of the taller boy's fingers. With a glance at Troy that lasts long enough for the brunette to see the sincerity glowing in the blond's eyes, Ryan states conclusively, "Troy is still our _star_. Whether Gabriella is here, or not, that's not going to change."

"Yeah," a smile quirks the ends of Kelsi's lips. "You're right." She reaches out and grabs hold of Troy's other hand. "We still have you, Troy," she says, her eyes sparkling.

Immediately, Troy flashes back to that day that seems like forever ago, when Ryan took him aside during rehearsals. _"You're our star," _Ryan had said while giving him a soft, affectionate nudge. _"The show can't go on without you"._ Just_ Troy_ isn't replaceable or useless, after all. "Hey. I couldn't let you guys down, now, could I?" Troy smiles at both of them. He can't help but feel like this would be a good place to stay; nestled snug between Ryan and Kelsi on the tiny composer's bed. Surrounded by people he loves who love him, in return… and who actually understand him better than he ever realized.

Softly, the three of them sing the bridge of "Scar", together. For some reason, be it the lyrics, themselves, or the company, all of them seem to draw some kind of resolve from the song. Kelsi blushes bright pink and tries to avert her eyes every time she happens to make eye contact with one of the boys, but she can't hide from Troy's encouraging smiles and nudges, or from the effects of Ryan's contagious passion for his craft.

_I realized, just in time_

_ Although my old self was hard to find,_

_ You can bathe me in your finest wine,_

_ But I'll never give you min_e

_'Cause I'm a little bit tired of fearing that I'll _

_ Be the bad fruit nobody buys_

_ Tell me did you think we'd all dream the same?_

8-8-8-8-8

They share Ryan's bed, again, that night. Although they start out at about one a.m. with a few inches between them, Troy reaches out, craving physical intimacy, and his arms find their way around Ryan. He snuggles in close, pressing against the smaller boy's back. _It's a perfect fit_, he can't help but notice. He just dares to have a sliver of hope that he isn't crossing any boundaries. This early on in his previous relationship, he never even would have imagined cuddling with Gabriella like this.

His heart gives a relieved pang, dismissing any thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, however, when Ryan cuddles contentedly into the embrace.

"You're _warm_, Troy. It's really… really _nice_," Ryan says quietly, peacefully.

Troy isn't sure how to respond, but he likes the sound of those words, all the same.

With a soft sigh, Ryan dozes back off. Troy soon follows suite.

8-8-8-8-8

_"Troy! Ohhh! …Troy!" Ryan exclaims, his voice heightened with pleasure. He clings to Troy, the pads of his fingers pressing hard into the brunette former basketball player's shoulder blades. _

_ "Ryan…!" Troy gasps out. He thrusts into the beautiful boy underneath him, passionate desire driving each desperate motion of his pelvis. His breathing is short, rapid. It's perfectly in-synch with Ryan's. Troy seems to hit some sort of sweet spot within the performer, and Ryan reacts by emitting a keening sound and pulling Troy down, into him, until their chests touch. Nothing has ever felt as good as this; the crowd cheering for him at basketball games, singing with Gabriella, his first kiss. This is _amazing_, it's incomparable. Troy can't get enough, and his need for this to go on, to never end, pings on every nerve with a white hot intensity. He thrusts again, into Ryan's warmth and heat, and it's so _good_. So… fucking…_! _Troy lets out a moan, and _suddenly rouses.

It takes a moment to shake off the initial disorientation, but he very swiftly picks up on the situation. His arms are around someone. Ryan. He's laying in bed with Ryan. He's grinding up against… "_Ryan_…?! Shit!"

Ryan lies rigid, inert. As if he's not sure how to react.

Troy interprets that lack of a physical response as a sign that he has crossed a line that he shouldn't have even been standing on this prematurely in their newly-romantic relationship. Immediately, he forces his still sleep-heavy limbs into motion and begins scrambling away. "I'm sorry. Fuck, Ryan. I'm _so_ sorry," he gets out. His cheeks burn with shame, and he can't believe how _hard _he is. How could he have allowed himself to do that? He's _stupid_. He's so…!

"Troy, it's okay."

Troy freezes, his mind and heart racing with confusion as his cock throbs in his boxers. "Huh?" He exclaims a bit too loudly, and feels even more like an idiot.

Ryan reaches out and takes hold of Troy's arms, gently guiding him back down onto the mattress. "Shh, it's all right. I promise, it's really, _really _okay," he reassures the former athlete, his voice thick, velvety, and, despite doing nothing to help the situation in Troy's pants, it still eases the brunette's nerves.

"'Really'…" Troy echoes vaguely. Then, something clicks at the forefront of his brain, and he gets it. "Oh. _Ohh_."

"Yeah," Ryan murmurs in confirmation.

Significantly less upset with himself, Troy swallows his regret and mortification. He settles into his spot, making sure to keep at least a few centimeters between Ryan's hot as all hell ass, and his own dick, which, evidently, has a mind of his own. But, that precaution proves wholly unnecessary, because the next thing he knows, he feels movement as Ryan shifts beside him. Then, he's biting back a moan as Ryan moves in close enough that Troy can almost feel the blond's skin touching his. Every nerve tingles, Troy is harder than he ever could have thought possible, and he has to fight the urge not to release some form of an expression of the need swelling in his core. _H-Holy shit...! _His brain exclaims.

"Um, would you… d-do you need some help with that?" Ryan's voice is nearly a whisper. A sensual whisper that Troy feels right at the head of his cock.

Troy can't say no. He couldn't if he tried. And, why would he try? "Yes," he replies, hoping that he doesn't sound desperate. "Yes, _please_, Ryan." He can just make out Ryan's features in the darkness; blue eyes, fair skin, blond hair, brows furrowing in concentration, mouth quirking with a mixture of uncertainty and excitement. Troy is incredibly glad for what he_ can_ see. It's an affirmation that this isn't just a dream that he's going to be rudely awoken from when it gets to the best part. It's an affirmation that Ryan is _there_.

Ryan.

Ohh, _Ryan_…

A warm hand reaches into Troy's boxers. _Ryan's_ hand. It's timid, considerate, and has only one intention: to make Troy feel good. Better than good, even. It's not at all like the invasive appendage of the Other Troy from his nightmare, and when Ryan's hand comes into contact with Troy's highly-sensitive piece of male equipment, softly brushes against it, closes around it, something inside of Troy erupts.

8-8-8-8-8

"I was thinking we could go out for a game of laser tag, after prom," Martha says as she and Jason stroll down a hallway at East High, hand in hand.

"That sounds cool," Jason replies earnestly.

"Yeah?" Martha asks, suddenly uncharacteristically shy.

"Yeah," Jason affirms. "I think all of your ideas are cool."

Troy leads Ryan past the pair, holding onto the blond's hand as they move at a rapid pace.

"What's the rush?" Ryan asks, not at all annoyed, or impatient. Just sincerely curious.

"I really, _really_ need your help with something." Troy guides Ryan through the hallway, dodging around passersby and carefully turning corners.

Ryan falls silent. Troy doesn't have to look back to know that the blond's brow line has hardened with determination to assist him in any way possible.

They enter the East High Library, mindful to keep their voices down. The librarian, Mrs. Falstaff, has a habit of shushing anyone who talks above a reasonable volume. Chad, in particular, seems to be her favorite target for hissing a "Shhhhh", at, with almost uncanny timing.

Troy beckons for Ryan to follow him to one of the computers. He jiggles the mouse on the pad once they're there, getting the computer off of the screensaver, and turns to Ryan, who listens intently. "So, um… colleges. In…" Troy swallows. This is it. The big game changer. And, it's one that he feels _excited_ about. Excited, more than any other emotion that could easily dominate him in this situation. "In New York," he rubs at the back of his neck as the last three words are spoken, hoping to ease the effect they have on his heart and stomach.

That seems to be all that he needs to say. Ryan's eyes light up immediately, with surprise and with happiness, and he drops into the chair at the desk, clicking on the web browser. His fingers rapidly tap the keys once the Google homepage is on the screen, and, at the sight of the numerous options for him, Troy lets out a sigh of relief.

One door has been closed to him forever. But, so many, many more have been opened. Without Ryan, he's not sure he'd have ever gathered the courage to even turn away from the closed door, let alone step over the threshold of another one. Yet… here he is. His hand coming down on Ryan's shoulder, Troy squeezes it to both encourage Ryan and to steel himself. _Here goes nothing. _

8-8-8-8-8

_Through anything,_

_ You can count on me!_

The music builds as Troy and Sharpay hold the note out. In the front of the house of the auditorium, Troy meets Ryan's eyes. Ryan beams back at him from backstage, unable to contain his joy and his pride, and Troy takes that as his cue. Flipping his hair back, he sings passionately as he begins making his way up toward Sharpay's position on the makeshift balcony.

_All I wanna do_

_ Is be with you_

_ Be with you_

_ There's nothin' we can't do_

_ Just wanna be with you_

_ Only you_

Sharpay _still _isn't Gabriella. She isn't _Ryan_ either. But, Troy is the star of the show, and any actor worth his salt can pretend that he's not- slightly- terrified of his costar.

He and Sharpay go through the routine. When Troy takes her hand and begins guiding her back for the twirl that he messed up time and again with her, but executed flawlessly with Ryan, he catches her briefly breaking character to convey her surprise. "What happened to Mr. Two Left Feet?" She asks curtly, her eyebrows raised in curiosity and brown eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Let's just say your brother is an _awesome_ teacher," Troy replies. Sharpay steps into his arms and they twirl easily. No misplaced footing, no backdrops plummeting toward them. Then, just like that, Troy spins her out. _"See?"_ Ryan's light voice echoes in his mind, his inflection bright and encouraging. _"You've got it."_

Thinking of Ryan causes Troy to look over to stage left, where he finds Ryan bouncing ecstatically in place backstage, his eyes shining. "Yes!" The blond boy mouths, his fist raised in celebration of his boyfriend's small but significant triumph.

Troy can't suppress the smile that plays on his lips. "And, I'm a fast learner," he finishes.

Sharpay follows Troy's line of sight to her brother and then back to the former athlete. A knowing gleam lights her eyes and a smirk quirks up the ends of her mouth. "I _knew_ it," she whispers.

"Hm?" Troy inquires. He doesn't receive clarification immediately. Sharpay crosses back toward him and forcibly leads him through the rest of the song. Thanks to Ryan's encouraging looks and little whispers, Troy is able to keep pace with the self-proclaimed queen of the theater. Together, they bring the number to a finish, Troy posing with Sharpay only inches away, his hands in hers. _Acting_, he reminds himself in the hopes of easing the churning of his stomach. _I'm _acting_. It's for the show._ _Ms. D, Kelsi, and Ryan wouldn't actually make me kiss Sharpay, anyway. _

A round of applause breaks out. Relief rushes over Troy at an almost sickening pace as he and Sharpay break away to dip into their bows. Kelsi claps enthusiastically at the piano, her blue-green eyes shining. Even Chad slowly brings his hands together in a show of appreciation for the performance, directing a nod of approval at Troy.

"A _remarkable _improvement, Mr. Bolton! _Truly_ impressive!" Ms. Darbus exclaims. Her voice and grand gesticulations teem with pride.

As Ryan rushes over and sweeps Troy into a hug, whispering, "You're every bit as amazing as I knew you would be", Troy allows a feeling of pride to fill his insides. He _was_ pretty good. He _did _make an, honestly, fairly monumental improvement. But, he can't give himself all of the credit.

"Thanks to you," he murmurs, returning the embrace wholeheartedly. Ryan is like his oasis, his wonderwall. Troy has no idea what he would do or where he would be without-

"What was it? A hand job? Did you give him oral?" Sharpay's voice cuts in. Simultaneously, Troy and Ryan both jolt sharply. The moment has been effectively ruined.

Sharpay's words were spoken in a low, hushed tone, but Troy still feels his face flare as heat rushes into his cheeks. "What?" He asks, moving away from Ryan only the distance needed to peer wide-eyed at the female Evans twin. His pulse takes off sprinting.

"Oh, don't play coy with me, Troy Bolton," Sharpay embellishes. "I _knew_ the reason you're lodging at my house wasn't entirely wholesome. You and my brother have _totally_ been canoodling. You can't pull the wool over-!"

Ryan slips in between Troy and Sharpay, cutting his sister off mid-sentence and- thankfully- preventing her from stepping any further into Troy, who wasn't sure how much more of the girl's close proximity he could handle. "Sharpay, there's a time and a place to discuss this, and it isn't _here_ and it isn't _now_."

Haughtily, Sharpay casts a look at their surroundings. Sure enough, people have begun whispering and tossing puzzled and more than somewhat suspicious glances at the Evans twins and the Golden Boy. "Fine," she relents, her hand resting on her hip. "After school, then."

"After school," Ryan agrees. Troy glances from Sharpay to Ryan, and nods in agreement.

As Sharpay crosses over to stage left, where Tiara awaits, holding up a Starbucks cup and clutching her giant pink tote bag, Troy murmurs to Ryan, "I'm _really_ not looking forward to 'after school'."

Ryan lets out a concurring sigh. "Me either." He reaches down and takes Troy's hand into his, thumb stroking over the former basketball player's knuckles. "Guess there really_ is_ a first time for everything, though, huh?"

In response, Troy cracks an "ironic" smile. Together, he and Ryan exit stage right and take up places backstage. They ignore the questioning looks, the stares that seem intent on proving that certain suspicions about Troy Bolton and the male half of the Evans siblings were completely founded, all along.

Just Troy no longer cares about upholding 'The Basketball Guy's' reputation, as if it was ever really that important in the first place.

"Now, we shall rehearse Sharpay's solo number," Ms. Darbus announces. Troy and Ryan stare out expectantly, their gazes resting inquisitively on the two blonde girls. Sharpay pauses in the middle of sipping from her coffee and her eyes light up, as if ready to take her cue. Right when she begins making a motion toward center stage, however, Ms. Darbus calls out, "Tiara, please take center!"

With a glance at Sharpay, who just manages to feign a supportive smile, or maybe it's genuine, Tiara confidently struts to her position, a smirk tugging at her lips. She signals to the band in the orchestra pit, as if she's done this her entire life.

Troy trades a perplexed look with Ryan.

Kelsi and the East High band members snap to attention and watch the blonde sophomore intently.

"One, two, three, go," Tiara states, punctuating her cue with a prompt and commanding snap of her fingers.

"Tiara's good at this," Troy whispers, astonished.

"Almost _too _good," Ryan murmurs back.

_Who's that girl?_

_ She's so fine_, the male backup chorus sings while Tiara strikes over the top flirty poses in a distinctly Sharpay-esque fashion.

As she watches from the sidelines, Sharpay's supportive smile slips from her face and begins falling into the makings of a frown.

8-8-8-8-8

With all of the chaos; the school musical, Gabriella's relocation to California, the grieving period, and his relationship with Ryan making the both surprising, and yet, not surprising at all, transition from friends to something more, Troy never had the time to clear out his locker in the locker room. In all honesty, doing so wasn't anywhere near the top on his list of priorities, but when the bell rings at the end of the day, he figures that he'll spare the custodian one less mess to have to deal with, come the end of the school year.

He sends Ryan a quick text to let him know what he's doing, and they make plans to go out for smoothies after their tell-all confrontation with Sharpay goes down. Ryan proposes getting a strawberry-banana smoothie, Troy proposes sharing it, tacking on a winking face at the end of the text.

His phone buzzes with Ryan's response: _**:D**_

Then, he descends the steps into the locker room and heads to his locker where he dials in the combination, gives the locker door a light punch, and it pops right open.

Folded up inside, there are a few pairs of shorts, tank tops, and sweatpants that are likely in need of a wash. Something that won't be getting dropped into the washing machine any time soon, however, are the socks balled up and shoved into the back corner. A half-smile plays on Troy's lips at the sight of them. His lucky socks. The ones he and his teammates wore for three straight play-off games. He hasn't washed them all season. It's gross, yes, but it's a team tradition, and considering that they won the title of Back-To-Back State Champs, the whole "lucky", thing might just have some merit to it. And, with his run as the team captain having reached the end of its term, it looks like it might be time for a-

"Troy! What is _up_, man?"

Troy's train of thought veers so sharply, it nearly goes careening off of the rails before the engineer manages to bring it grinding to a halt.

Jimmie. He doesn't even have to turn around to identify the repeated instigator of his heart palpitations. How Jimmie manages to soundlessly materialize wherever he goes, escapes Troy. He wants to say something to the kid, like, "If you keep sneaking up on people like that, you're going to put someone in the _hospital_, one of these days", or, "Cut that shit out, okay? _Jesus_!" But, he can't summon up the kind of fury to lend his words any weight. And, anyway, Jimmie _is_ just a _kid_. If Coach actually does put the scrawny sophomore in the running for team captain, which is a very real possibility- Jimmie's an incredibly earnest and passionate asset to the team, when he actually finds the mindset to settle down and concentrate on the game- the responsibilities that "Rocketman" will find himself saddled with will cause him to grow up, even a little bit.

Exhaling slowly, Troy turns to the younger brunette. "You're here to ask me about my locker, right?"

Jimmie gapes, his mouth hanging open. "Whoa." He shakes his head in awe. "It's like, you and me, we've got a psychic connection going on."

"It's actually more of an educated guess," Troy murmurs, more to himself than the sophomore. Jimmie had outright brought up the idea of Troy's locker being bequeathed to him, earlier in the semester, after the last game of the season. It wasn't exactly a logical leap to arrive at the conclusion that he would inquire about it, again. Troy puts the last pair of shorts and a black sweatband with a white paw print embroidered on it into his gym bag and pulls the drawstrings closed. "It's all yours," he states without looking up.

"Wha…" Jimmie starts, then tries again. "I…! Really?!" His brown eyes are wide, and a smile is on the verge of overtaking his face.

"Yeah." Troy smiles back, warmth trickling into his heart. For all the ways that he manages to be a nuisance, "Rocketman" really isn't a bad kid. And, he _did_ earn it, by all accounts. He handled the hazing- having him and his friend Donny run all over the school clad in nothing but a towel, in pursuit of their clothes- like a champ. Slinging the gym bag over his shoulder, Troy adds, the smile not leaving his face, "Now hurry up and take this before I change my mind." He holds out his hand and offers up a slip of paper that has the digits to his locker combination written on it sitting upright between his index and middle finger.

It takes a second for that information to process, but Jimmie shakes off his momentary daze, dashes over, and snatches up the slip of paper. His eyes are starry as they flit over the numbers. For a few brief seconds, he seems to have been rendered speechless for what's very likely the first time in his life. Then, he lets out a whoop that echoes throughout the confined space, and hollers, "I've got _Troy Bolton's_ locker combo…! This is the _Greatest Day of My Life_!"

Troy has half a mind to quiet the younger brunette for the sake of his ear drums, but he lets that half-hearted desire go with a faintly amused sigh. Jimmie's allowed to celebrate, especially when he sees the surprise gift awaiting him inside of the locker. And, Troy has other things going on, anyway. He turns away from the rejoicing sophomore and makes his way down the hallway toward the stairs, passing the coach's office on the way. As he begins ascending the staircase, a certain, familiar voice that wasn't entirely unexpected, halts him mid-step.

"Troy."

He turns to meet his dad's gray eyes and homesickness promptly pangs in the center of his body. All of the things that he wants to relay to the senior Bolton suddenly rush over him. He wants to let his dad know that he's doing great, that staying at the mansion home of the Evans family was _exactly _what he needed, that, _You and mom don't have to worry about me, anymore._

"Uh, Darbus says you're doing a great job with that musical," Coach Bolton begins.

Troy shifts the weight of his bag off of his shoulder blade and gives a hesitant nod in acknowledgement of what appears to be a compliment. Bringing up anything other than U of A and basketball has been treading shaky ground with his father, lately, so, he's just a bit anxious about where this conversation is going.

"I just wanted to let you know that your mom and are I gonna be at the show," his dad finishes, his gray eyes warm, affectionate. _Proud_. "And… If you really want to look at a college for theater and all that stuff, we're behind you one-hundred percent."

His heart misses a beat and Troy gives the idea that he might have misheard his dad consideration. Then, he takes in the sincere, earnest smile on his dad's face and feels one working its way across his own visage. No, there's no way he heard that wrong. Things really_ are _working out. Throat constricting as a lump rises up in it, and eyes beginning to mist, Troy manages a soft, "Thanks, dad." He wants to add that he'll be home, soon, that he'll be ready to take his room back and fill it with pictures of his new life and the person he's sharing it with, but his dad is already on his way back to his office.

With a renewed burst of confidence, Troy races up the stairs and to the parking lot, where he'll find Ryan waiting for him beside Sharpay's convertible.

8-8-8-8-8

"Ryan and I are dating," Troy proclaims, his head held high, spine straight, and heart hammering against his breastbone.

"As in _officially_?" Sharpay raises her head, too, seemingly trying to make herself taller. It's an entirely unnecessary intimidation technique- Troy already feels diminished from the searing look of scrutiny the female Evans twin is giving him, on its own.

"Yes," Troy answers, immediately followed by Ryan chipping in with, "It's not exactly like we were trying to be secretive about it."

Sharpay takes a step back, her brow line creasing in contemplation. "So, you and Gabriella are…?"

"Done," Troy answers firmly, certainly. Said aloud, the word has power, faculty. It's as though the mere act of giving that statement a voice has transformed it into a key that perfectly fits the lock on a cage that Troy wasn't fully aware that he was trapped in until he got his first taste of freedom. Freedom in the form of a beautiful blond boy with sky-colored eyes, fair, creamy skin, pink lips, curvy hips, and an adorable overbite, informing him that he had a choice. That he was better than he'd been made to believe he was. That he wasn't just an accessory to Gabriella that needed her to guide him, lest he stray off course.

"What?" Sharpay lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Did she start fooling around with college boys-?"

Whatever else she meant to say is cut off at the knees as Troy interjects with, "No, _I _found someone better." He pulls Ryan in close to emphasize his words, lend them credence. His hand rests on the outer curve of the petite boy's hip, fingertips lightly brushing against it, and Ryan's arm naturally slips around Troy's back as draws in so close, his cheek touches Troy's neck.

It's like the final piece to a puzzle has at last slid into place.

Troy can feel tension in the air, and realizes that Ryan is shooting his sister a glare for drudging up that old piece of grape vine speculation. Ryan is _protecting_ him.

The glare appears to be effective. Sharpay backs down and switches gears. "Well," she says in a tone that Troy recognizes as her attempt to be friendly, "this doesn't _look_ like the typical jock going through his bi-curious experimental phase."

"That's because it isn't-" Troy starts, a large part of him ready to spill out that he sure, he was attracted to and felt something for Gabriella, but Ryan does things to him that no one else does, that he might be bisexual, because both guys and girls can turn his head, that okay, maybe he isn't quite sure what label to place on his sexuality just yet, but this _definitely_ isn't a phase.

But, Ryan beats him to the punch. "Shar, you _know_ that Troy wouldn't use someone for any reason, let alone as an experiment for his burgeoning sexual impulses. And," he adds a bit more gently, "you should know that I wouldn't _let_ anyone use me, like that."

The fierce gleam in Sharpay's brown eyes softens to betray a hint of affectionate surprise, and realization claps down on Troy. Sharpay being on the offensive, her insistence on interrogating him whenever he expressed romantic intentions for her brother… it all makes sense, now. Troy feels his heart warm up, just partially, to the female Evans twin, because he understands exactly where she's coming from, for once. He is certain to look her in the eyes as he relays sincerely, solemnly, "Sharpay, Ryan does… He…" Ryan moves in the one-armed embrace, turning to look at him, and the sight of the vulnerability, the _love_ shining in the blond boy's eyes causes Troy's heart to swell until it presses on his throat, constricting his vocal cords, making the completion of the process that turns thought into speech nearly impossible. "He means more to me than you know," he gets out, his voice tight and eyes watery. "More than I can possibly say. And I would _never _hurt him."

Ryan's sky blue eyes mist with tears and a smile spreads across his face. "Troy…!" he says softly, then pulls Troy into an embrace, burying his nose in the crook of the taller boy's neck.

Troy smiles as he hugs Ryan back. Inside of him, the words,_ I love you, Ryan_, cascade from his heart and thunder with internal resonance as they spill into and begin quickly filling his muscles and other vital organs.

Troy sees Sharpay smile for a second, but then she seems to catch herself. "Alright, that's enough sentimentality for one day."

Ryan and Troy step out of their embrace, but their eyes remain locked on each other. "Troy, you…" Ryan starts. With one hand, he takes Troy's hand into his. His grip is tight, strong, despite the fact that his hand is shaking. He rests his other hand on his chest, deeply affected.

Troy listens intently, his heart in his throat.

"For the longest time, I… I never thought we-"

"Yes, you guys are clearly gaga for each other, are gonna make each other stupidly happy, and your relationship has my approval," Sharpay cuts in.

"Approval". It's more than Troy honestly could have asked for. He doesn't have any time to express his gratitude over this fortuitous turn of events, or speak up about the rudeness of Sharpay interrupting her brother, however, as Sharpay quickly adds, "Now, scootch."

Troy has just enough time to shoot Ryan a perplexed look before the female Evans twin slides a pair of large, pink-rimmed sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and pushes her way between them.

The two boys stare after Sharpay in a mixture of confusion and minor vexation as she strides over to her convertible. She opens the door and drops into the driver's seat, informing them in a loud voice, "I'm going costume shopping before the mall closes. Just because I'm playing Gabriella in the musical, it doesn't mean I have to look I bought my clothes from the Goodwill."

Troy is torn between letting out a vaguely impressed laugh at the jibe at his ex, and feeling a bit of anger on Gabriella's behalf. Ryan, however, is unable to contain a smirk and a short, muffled laugh. It's this, coupled with the recollection of all of the times that Gabriella demeaned Troy's choice of attire, that compels Troy to allow a smile to work its way across his face, and a tiny laugh to escape him. He recalls reading somewhere that laughing about the things that trouble you is cathartic and therapeutic in its own right.

And, just maybe, Gabriella deserves to have some not-exactly-polite things said about her.

When Ryan's hand slips into his own, once more, their fingers entwining, and Ryan fixes him in an intent stare, his neatly groomed eyebrows knitted with faint concern as he asks, "Are you all right, Troy?", Troy can answer him without any trace of dishonesty, "Yeah. Yes I am." Then, he tugs Ryan toward his truck, urging him with a mischievous grin, "If I heard your sister correctly, we have the _whole house_ to ourselves, for a few hours."

Ryan's eyes light up, and he breaks into an anticipatory smile. "Indeed we do." Troy waggling his eyebrows, and every unsaid implication that goes with that gesture, seems to be all the incentive that he needs to race along after the former athlete.

8-8-8-8-8

The first time the 'l' word is uttered, Troy is laying on Ryan's bed, his head cushioned by the familiar downy pillows, heat and electricity surging through his body as Ryan's multi-talented hands make a continual circuit from his chest to his abs, and his own hands preoccupy themselves by squeezing Ryan's butt. He's never touched anyone's ass, before, and certainly not like _this_, but it's not at all difficult to imagine that Ryan has the greatest ass of anyone ever. Firm, round, luscious… Yeah, luscious sounds about right.

Ryan straddles Troy, his tongue engaging the brunette's in a sort of fleshy, pink tango that makes Troy's stomach feel heavy.

Contrary to what _Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World_ engrained in the pop cultural mindset, that 'l' word isn't "lesbians". And, while Troy wouldn't exactly be opposed to the idea of two girls playing tonsil hockey, the opposite sex, in general, is the farthest thing from his mind, at the moment. Everything is Ryan; the denim stretched tight over the contours of Ryan's butt and how that denim feels against the pads of Troy's fingers, the way Ryan's hips are thrusting gently, pressing into the space directly above Troy's groin and driving the former athlete crazy with want, _need_, Ryan's insistent kisses, the sweet, cherry-flavored taste of his lower lip as Troy bites softly at it. As heat surges below his belt and his heart aches with insatiable need for Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, a certain phrase rises up in Troy's throat and comes out of his mouth in the form of a moan: "I love you _so much_."

Ryan pauses, his lips hovering mere centimeters from Troy's. "You…?" He asks, still somewhat dazed. "You…?!" he repeats. He blinks, gives a slight shake of his head to clear out his momentary passion-induced stupor, then trails his fingers down Troy's face, bringing them to a rest under Troy's chin as he moves back enough to peer into the brunette's eyes, searching them intently. He needs to hear it again. He needs elucidation and reassurance. Troy can see it in the way Ryan's brows knit, the piercing anguish- urgency- that darkens his blue eyes into a steely gray, _feel it_ in how Ryan's hands tremble.

Troy reaches up and clasps Ryan's hands in his, hoping to cease the trembling. He stares into Ryan's eyes, his heart in his throat. This isn't his hormones doing the talking for him, and this isn't taking a plunge, either. He knows that he has something, or rather, _someone_, to break his fall. "I love you, Ryan," he says softly but clearly, allowing no room for misinterpretation. "I _love_ you."

There is no need to question the veracity of that statement. Troy has known for quite a while, now, that he loves the blond; the light timbres of his voice, the creamy alabaster of his soft, sweet-smelling skin, his colorful clothes, his many, _many_ hats, the texture of his golden hair, his radiant smile, his quirks, his hips, his wit and his insightfulness. The way Ryan is always there for him…

And, Ryan must be able to see that certainty in Troy's eyes, he must have heard it in the tone of his voice, because his face crumples in a silent sob and he immediately moves back in, hugging Troy tightly and covering his face in kisses. "I love you, too, Troy…! I love you, too…!"

8-8-8-8-8

Later that evening, they're sitting on the big lawn swing out in the courtyard at the Evans place, sipping from the promised strawberry-banana smoothie as the sun sinks below the horizon, casting fiery hues of pink and orange, and a deep purple across the sky. Ryan waxes poetically about how, "The setting sun's always resembled watercolor paints staining a canvas. At least, that's how I always thought of it."

Troy raises his cellphone and takes a picture of the sky, because the hint of wonder to Ryan's voice as he made that observation dubs the moment worthy of safekeeping. At least, as far as Troy is concerned. The colors in the picture on the screen of the device are diluted, nowhere near as vibrant as the natural orange and pink that are so bright, Troy has to squint to keep them from burning his retinas.

But, Ryan seems to love it, anyway. "Send me a copy of that, please?"

"Sure." Troy readily complies to the request, then he settles back, his arm finding its way around Ryan's shoulders. Ryan offers him another sip of the smoothie, holding the cup up to the former athlete's mouth. Troy takes the sip and the delicious, thickly churned mixture of strawberry and banana fills his mouth and slides down his throat. As he licks at his top lip to make certain there isn't any deep pink liquid sticking around, it occurs to him that the pose he and Ryan are currently in is similar to their seating arrangements from that day on the rooftop garden, last Friday.

It honestly feels like that took place in another lifetime for all of the ways that everything has changed, since then. Troy's eyes close in contentment, his cheek rests against the brim of Ryan's hat, and his legs gently propel the swing forward and back. Silence descends on the world. And, it too, is the same as the silence that he and Ryan fell into last Friday. Tranquil. Easy. _Everything_ has _changed,_ Troy reflects._ But maybe, _he adds, taking in how easily, how_ perfectly _he and Ryan fit together,_ somethings stay the same. _

.

.

.

.

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**A/N: **This took me a _lot _longer than I anticipated, and I apologize earnestly for it. I expected this story to be similar to _Metamorphose_; lengthy, but neatly contained in one document. As it turned out, though, the plot I'm working with here has a lot more meat to it. One document wasn't enough.

Two isn't enough.

So, Part Three is currently underway.

I thank all of you who have been reading this story despite the output of Tryan fanfiction currently being rather stagnant. I want you to know that your support keeps my fingers determinedly tapping those keys.

**Disclaimer: As you well know, I have absolutely no claims of ownership to any characters, locations, or other related elements present in the **_**High School Musical **_**series. Disney and Peter Barsocchini staked that claim back in 2006, and there's no chance of them bequeathing it to me any time soon. **

**Any other recognizable property belongs to its owner. The only thing I can rightfully claim as mine is the plot and dialogue that is making the gradual transfer from my brain, to this document, and finally, to the internet where you, my dear reader, can hopefully enjoy it.**


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